


Dark Magic

by Strega7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strega7/pseuds/Strega7
Summary: Hermione runs into Professor Snape late one night after he returns from a summons.  Something is very different about the man she encounters.[Hermione is in her 7th year, she is 19, and the war is ongoing - AU]Inspired by Desert_Sea's sexy Snape in "Debaucery" and snarky Hermione "An Accidental Affair."  If you enjoy my work, you'll love Desert_Sea.https://archiveofourown.org/works/7684549https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708880/chapters/15343114
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 113
Kudos: 525





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters- wish they were. Thanks JKR for this fabulous world. 
> 
> Does anyone want to be my beta? Or just help me brainstorm storyline? I got stuck and haven't figured out where to go next with it. Any suggestions, brainstorms, or ideas would be great! :) 
> 
> Thank you so much to all who have commented and sent kudos. It really is a joy to write for you!

_ [Seventh year at Hogwarts. Voldemort still alive. Dumbledore still alive. Severus still spying for the Order, playing his role as faithful Death Eater. Harry and friends still planning and working to bring Voldemort down.]  _

Chapter 1 

Hermione knew she shouldn’t be out of bed. She knew she shouldn’t be here, lurking in the corner of the dungeon hall. She knew there would be consequences if he noticed her. But tonight she’d seen his flinch, his carefully hidden reaction, the stiffening of his left arm as he made his way away from the others. She knew it must mean he had been summoned, and she was determined to make sure that he was ok. 

Harry had been letting her use the Marauders Map at night (he hadn’t pressed her yet as to why), but she’d been curious since the first time she’d noticed Professor Snape being summoned. It had been three weeks prior, and she’d been studying late in bed, checking the map periodically late into the early morning hours. She had finally noticed the name  _ Severus Snape _ seemingly standing still in the dungeon hallway. She had watched for more than twenty minutes before finally deciding that he might not just be lost in thought at this odd hour. Something was probably wrong. Using the map and a disillusionment charm she’d been working hard on, Hermione was able to make her way undetected down to the dungeons to find him collapsed in a heap on the floor. Quickly taking inventory, she’d been able to cast  _ renervate _ and revive him. He seemed barely conscious, but she was able to support him until he let them through the wards into his rooms. He then recovered enough to tell her that he was fine and he promptly and unceremoniously threw her out of his rooms, slamming the door in her still concerned face. She stayed outside watching the map until she saw his form make it into his bedroom and remain in what she would have to assume was his bed, and hopefully not just another location on the floor. 

So tonight, knowing he’d been summoned again, she’d settled herself into her little corner and waited. It was nearing two in the morning, and she could feel her eyelids getting heavy. She checked the map for the three hundredth time, and finally, there were the footsteps of Severus Snape, making their way down her hallway. _Shit_. He had come from the other direction before, which meant that this time he would pass directly in front of her. She tucked away the map, stood and pressed herself against the cold stone wall. She wasn’t even sure why she had felt the need to check on him personally. But, she had anticipated being able to check on him from a distance. She hoped that at this close range she wouldn’t give herself away. She heard his soft footsteps approaching, and she couldn’t help watching as his black-clad figure emerged from the shadows. He walked with a feline grace, confident, with a hint of something else she couldn’t recall seeing before. Usually he strode purposefully, or perhaps stalked stealthily as he snuck up on students, but she’d never seen him move with this kind of… _casual allure_ before. _He moves like smoke,_ she thought. He’d always been graceful, but the way he moved tonight captivated her attention and stirred something deep inside. No scowl, no sneer. He was… _fucking sexy._ It was the _antithesis_ to Professor Snape’s persona as far as she had ever been aware. 

She slowly let out her breath only after he had passed her hiding spot, relief flooding through her. As her heartbeat began to come down, she gasped as she suddenly found herself without camoflauging charm, a hand pressed against the stone wall by each of her ears, a tall body barricading her in, and very dark eyes boring into hers. There was something glittering and dark crackling in the depths of those eyes, like lightning behind the clouds. Something very different than anything she’d seen in them before.  _ Yes _ , there was something very different going on here tonight. She wondered if he was drugged or high. His pupils were dilated, and there was something wild and dangerous flaring in the depths. 

Looking down at her, he cocked his head slightly, as if pondering the riddle that was her. A cat contemplating a trapped mouse. He then refocused and his gaze dipped down to fully take her in: from her curling hair, to exposed neck, to buttoned blouse and uniform skirt to bare legs and back up again. For a moment she could feel the heat of that gaze and her body flushed in response.  _ Gods, he has most  _ definitely _ never looked at me like that before. _ And though she had never once in her life considered him sexy, tonight, he was dripping with it. The smile still played at his lips, quirking further as she sucked in her breath when his face drew closer to hers. She stopped breathing entirely when his mouth neared hers. However, at the last moment he turned and instead leaned in to whisper in her ear. 

“You shouldn’t be down here little girl.” His voice was low and silky, sliding down her spine. His breath tickled the shell of her ear and his voice vibrated in her head and down through every nerve. For a moment she couldn’t breathe and all thought ceased. The dangerous undercurrent of his words made adrenaline race through her body, even as something else seemed to be warming in her veins. Internally she bristled at being called ‘little girl,’ she was nineteen after all (counting the time-turner year). And yet standing here before this older, dark and extremely lethal wizard... that was exactly what she was. Next to him, she was innocent and naive and utterly vulnerable, but she couldn’t help feeling drawn to him, even as her survival instincts urged her to run. She was quite sure she should be trusting her instincts. A low chuckle danced across her skin, his mouth still unnervingly close to her ear. He wasn’t even touching her, and yet she could feel his body’s energy pressing against hers. An electrical charge hummed in the air between them. She felt him inhale deeply through his nose, as if breathing in the smell of her hair. 

“Go back to your bed, sweet thing… you shouldn’t tempt the things that lurk in the dark,” his voice rumbled. At these words, her eyes fluttered and closed as wildly inappropriate thoughts of what could happen next skittered across her brain. Though only a moment passed, lost in her imaginings and the tension of her body, Hermione opened her eyes, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just like that he had rejoined with the shadows and she was left alone again in the hallway. Evidently he’d made it back “ _ safe” _ after this summons, she choked to herself. But now it meant she was brimming with questions about what had just happened, and how and how the usually snarky and indifferent potions professor had been replaced with a seductive, melt-your-knickers off total bad boy. 


	2. Chapter 2

That week Professor Snape was the same as he’d ever been in Potions class and in the halls. Unpleasant to say the least. And he was the same the next week too. He barely glanced at her, and when he did it was with disdain and impatience. There was no trace of the man she’d glimpsed that night. But she simply couldn’t tear her eyes away. So she watched some more. With even more attentiveness than ever before. 

The next time it happened she was determined to be more careful. She checked the map regularly at night now, scanning for his name. Most nights he remained in his office until all hours. Other nights he spent in the lab, while others he wandered the hallways endlessly. He very rarely slept, as far as she could tell. But when, late one night, she watched his dot start moving quickly out from his quarters and then through a hidden passageway, leaving the map entirely, she knew it had happened again. She still wasn’t sure what to make of what had happened the last time, and there was no way to know whether he would come back in a similar…  _ state  _ as last time… or if he would once again end up collapsed in a bloody pile on the floor. It had started out as curiosity. And then a desire to help and make sure he was safe after all he was doing for the Order. Now… she wasn’t sure what it was. Something in her stomach fluttered, but she ignored it and waited until everyone else was asleep. 

Slightly more hesitant this time, Hermione made her way once again down to his dungeon hallway. She had no way of knowing which direction he would be coming from, and so it seemed an equal fifty-fifty chance as to which end of the hallway she should choose. The door to his quarters lay in the middle and she sighed as she took up a position on the opposite side of where she had stood the last time. On this occasion, in addition to disillusionment charms, she set about warding herself into the corner, adding silencing charms and notice-me-nots and settled down to wait. 

Several hours later, and before she even knew what was happening, she was lifted from her spot and pinned to the cold dungeon wall, her arms gripped tightly by two long-fingered hands. She could feel him growl as his body pushed against hers, pressing her full length against the wall, his thigh nudging itself between her legs. Everything happened so fast, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. The feel of his leg connecting between her thighs sent electricity straight to her groin and her body hummed with unfamiliar sensations of white-hot desire. The strength of his hands holding her in place seemed to burn where they connected, heat radiating out from his touch. The scent of him washed over her, like wool and woodsmoke, fragrant herbs and a summer storm. Her eyes came up to meet his and once again she saw that otherworldly light crackling in the background. It sparked and flickered and danced a deep violet behind those bottomless black eyes. It was hypnotic. 

His breath was warm and inviting so close to her lips. Her own inhales were shallow and ragged, chest heaving as he watched her, unreadable things floating across his features. 

“What did I tell you about playing in the shadows?” He drawled, voice low and silken, caressing her from the inside out. Her mouth was dry and she was sure no words would form, even if she could remember how language worked. “Hmmm?” He hummed, his chest vibrating against hers as he continued to assess her, eyes penetrating, as if they saw every piece of her and how he might take them apart, one by one. His eyes flicked down to her lips and back again, his tongue slipping out to wet his own. She felt her heart stutter. His lips curved into a slow smile, but it was a smile that promised a world of things she’d never imagined. Slowly sliding his knee a little higher, she felt herself parting slightly to allow it, and when it connected with her core she almost moaned out loud. 

But then he was pulling away from her, the cool air suddenly rushing in where his heat had encased her. Her mind was numb, but her body was on fire. Finally letting go with his hands, he ran a finger down her arm and she shuddered involuntarily. “You should be more wary of the dark… Hermione. This is your last warning.” He smirked. In all the years she’d known him, she’d thought she’d seen every variety of smirk. She thought she’d heard every warning tone he’d ever given a student, and they’d all been terrifying. But this one... This smirk and this warning were new. They made it hard to breathe. They made her want to break the rules, to push him, to ignore all caution and see just what he would do to her. Bodies no longer touching, his hand had moved to lean against the wall, but he was still too close, still with that burning in his eyes. He held her gaze with that wild intensity before he cocked his head, as if listening, and she finally realized what he had clearly sensed coming. 

“Severus!” The shocked voice of the headmaster broke into her haze. Snape was not touching her, but she knew he looked far more intimate than would be considered appropriate. She could feel Dumbledore’s power as it thrummed along the stone walls. Severus turned lazily to the headmaster, a different smirk playing at his lips before shrugging indifferently and sauntering around the irate older wizard. Without looking back, he made his way towards his quarters, hands in his pockets with that slow, sexy rolling walk, until he finally disappeared beyond his doorway. 

“Miss Granger. With me.” It wasn’t even a complete sentence. Hermione had never heard Dumbledore this angry before, and she quickly recalled herself and followed him. Adrenaline now pumping, it washed away the heat that had been there a moment ago, and she trailed the headmaster until they stood before her tower dormitory. He cast a quick silence and privacy charm around them and looked at her thunderously. “What in Merlin’s name were you doing down there this time of night? Do you have any idea-” he seemed to catch himself before saying any more. Hermione bit her lip, but didn’t say anything. She had a million questions, but she’d learned by now that she was far more likely to catch more answers by holding her tongue. Dumbledore dragged his hand down his face, looking utterly exhausted. “I must ask you to use more caution in the future. There are things you don't understand at work, and Professor Snape is… not himself sometimes. It would be best for you to avoid him at these unusual hours.” 

“Do you mean… I mean, you think I was in  _ danger _ ?” She asked carefully, with a hint of incredulity emphasized on the last word. A flash of annoyance and something else she couldn’t read flashed in his eyes before he reapplied his grandfatherly demeanor and shook his head. 

“Not in danger, my dear.” She was sure he wouldn’t have admitted it even if it were true. “I would just ask you to avoid the dungeons after dark.” he said vaguely. She knew she wouldn’t get any clearer answers from him, so she ducked her head and tried to look contrite. 

“Sorry Sir. I should get back to my dorm.” He looked relieved and patted her shoulder as she hurried past him and through the Gryffindor portal. Her mind was racing as she made her way up the old stairwell and pulled the curtains around her bed. Casting a few of her own privacy charms she finally breathed a deep sigh of relief.  _ What just happened? _

She could still feel the pressure of his knee sliding up between her thighs, the closeness of his body on hers. She clamped her own thighs as if she could trap that feeling. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but these past two encounters were _not_ something she would have expected in a million years. Especially not involving Professor Snape. Her brain just kept replaying the way his mouth had formed her name. _Hermione_. He’d said it slowly, like he was tasting it as he spoke, letting his tongue explore it, and her legs trembled at the thought. He’d said it like a promise. And his warning? That this was _her_ _last_ warning? What on earth did that mean, and did she dare find out? Her body screamed yes - but she was not usually the one to run into things without more information. 

She was still in shock at this version of Snape. Harry and Ron would be horrified, and then would promptly laugh her out of the room. A Snape who practically dripped sex, who moved like silk sliding over skin, and whose eyes burned with wanton desire? She wasn’t even sure she believed it herself. And she’d seen it! Twice.  _ Felt it _ , her brain offered up unhelpfully.  _ That’s why your knickers are soaking wet. _ She harrumphed and tried to take a different approach. 

His eyes. She was sure that was the thing to focus on. Was it a drug he’d been forced to ingest, or a curse that he’d suffered at the meeting or revels or whatever kind of gatherings they were? A curse to make someone really, really sexy? That sounded odd for Death Eaters. How on earth would that serve their deranged purposes? She wasn’t getting anywhere, and now that the adrenaline had subsided she could feel exhaustion taking hold of her body and mind. 

Sighing, she took out the map one last time and regarded it as Snape's name remained in his sitting room by the fire.  _ When did that man ever sleep?  _ She put away the map and closed her eyes. Thoughts tangled and gnarled she slipped into a restless sleep herself, hoping that her brain might come up with some helpful conclusions while she slept. 


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next two months she just watched. She’d noticed that he was usually summoned on Friday nights, and so she was willing to give Harry the map back during the week, and just borrow it on weekends. Harry had given her a funny look and asked her if she was stalking a new crush. She’d managed to keep an straight face, but she squirmed at the comment. Is that what this had become? Had she gone off the deep-end? Did she have a thing for the potions professor? She really wasn’t sure. But her thoughts of Snape didn’t go away. She was able to ignore them for the most part. Snape’s unchanged behavior in the rest of her life made it easier to pretend that this was all some insane dream, not reality. But late at night when she closed her eyes, she could still feel his breath in her ear. She could hear his voice and the…  _ possibilities _ dripping from every word. She could see his lips as he spoke her name. And she could see that lust in his dark eyes, desire crackling between them as his gaze scraped down her body and up again. She couldn’t stop what her mind came up with late at night. And truthfully she didn’t really try to. 

It was late one Friday night in December when she watched on in horror as Snape’s footprints made it back onto the map, just as the name Tracey Davis’ was making its way back to the Slytherin Common Room. It was well past curfew, so she might have been charmed and sneaking back in, but there would be no way for them not to cross paths. She held her breath, waiting to see what would happen.  _ Would he push her up against the wall? Would she notice the utterly unmistakeable difference in their potions professor?  _ Was _ he possibly dangerous? _ She had no way of knowing what their encounter would actually be like, but she looked on unhappily as the names drew near one another along a collision course of transecting hallways. 

Hermione watched, but to her astonishment, there appeared to be _no incident whatsoever._ Severus Snape walked directly past Tracey Davis, not stopping or slowing, continuing to his rooms as Tracey hurriedly made her way back to her dorm. _Huh._ Hermione couldn’t seem to come to a conclusion about what she’d just witnessed. _Maybe he was himself this time?_ _Or was it somehow_ herself _that triggered his strange reaction? This is insane._ She thought. But she just couldn’t shake the strange feelings, and once again she drifted off into restless dreams. 

The semester was finally over. Ron and Harry would be at Grimmauld Place for the holidays. She would be joining them after Christmas, but she’d insisted on staying for the first half of the break, citing a number of research projects on which she was hoping to make some progress. McGonagall had offered to accompany her to the headquarters house after the first part of the break. She’d even convinced Harry to lend her his invisibility cloak… to be able to access the restricted section of the library, of course. She was only mildly worried about the plans her subconscious was making. Despite Dumbledore’s warning, she was somehow confident that Snape was not dangerous to her… or at least that he would do no harm. What else he might do to her was anyone’s guess. And she certainly had a few ideas. Hermione knew it had gotten bad. She should have forgotten it. She should have ignored it. But it had affected her, and just like any other area of her life, where there was a mystery or a puzzle, she worried at it constantly, brushing over the memories like a talisman until they had seeped into all other areas of her life. Not her best personality trait. Although it certainly could be handy when applied to real life problems. She just wasn’t sure this was a puzzle that was wise to try to figure out. It was a mystery that… should perhaps remain just that - a mystery. 

She sighed. Yeah… her inner Miss Marple was not going to make that possible. She snorted at the image. She knew herself to be dowdy at times, but the thought of her as an elderly Miss Marple, working to unravel the mystery that was Snape as sex-on-a-stick had her chortling. So, tonight she would be once again looking into the enigma. 

She was pretty sure he would be summoned tonight. It was the winter solstice, and she had been looking up the significance of the longest night of the year in relation to dark magic. It looked like there was a lot of significance to it, and she could only assume the Dark Lord would have something planned. She picked up her book again and watched the map until she saw the footprints marked Severus Snape get up slowly from his sitting room and make his way off the map. 

T _his was a terrible idea,_ she told herself again as she got up and put on her clothes for the evening. She managed to pile her hair on top her head in an elegant arrangement. She decided to go with jeans and a dark blue velvet blouse with an open boat neck that almost slid off her shoulders. No jewelry. Only the lightest touches of makeup. She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. And she knew this look made her appear a little older. Which in this case couldn’t hurt. She still hadn’t allowed her mind to actually formulate what might happen if she followed through with this crazy idea. He could just as easily toss her out like he had before… but he might not. Crookshanks eyed her skeptically, as if to say _even_ _he_ wouldn’t be curious enough to risk what she was about to do. “Shut up you.” She muttered, and he closed his eyes again with a smug look. 

It was almost half past one when she heard the soft footsteps echoing off the dungeon walls. She wondered if he could sense her through the invisibility cloak. It was supposed to be more effective than disillusionment charms, but as his form materialized into view, she could see that his sauntering steps were slowing.  _ Oh gods. _ She thought.  _ This really was a terrible idea. _ She repeated to no one, over and over. He came to a stop several meters away from her, his head cocked to the side and a small smile played at his lips as his eyes scanned the space before him. They held that same violet colored fire, and the way he moved was sinful. Watching him carefully from the most deeply shadowed part of the wall where she stood, she saw him close his eyes and inhale deeply. 

“Mmmmmm.” The sound was in the same genre as a moan, and suggested deep satisfaction. Warmth flooded her lower body, and she could feel the tendrils of arousal starting to tickle between her legs. “I smell summer, even here in the depths of midwinter.” His voice washed over her and she thought she’d never heard anything so sexy. God’s he could make her come with that voice alone. As it turned out, he was just getting started. “Bare skin heated by the summer sun, gardenias at night, paperback books from the local library, salty sea air,” here he paused, and the smile grew a little wider, even as his eyes remained closed. “And summer-ripe peach, tangy and sticky, and sweet on the tongue…” Hermione swallowed hard from her hiding place. “Come here, sweet thing. Have you come to dance in the dark with me?” 

The words were taunting and tantalizing, and Hermione had half a mind to run and half a mind to run  _ to him. _ But she didn’t move. Her heart was pounding and her knickers were soaked through at his vivid imagery, but she still wasn’t sure who this man was. He certainly didn’t resemble the sarcastic, bitter and seemingly tight-laced potions professor. Was this a Jekyll and Hyde scenario? Would one remember what the other had done? She didn’t really like Potions Master Snape, but she  _ did _ trust him. She had no idea if this Snape could be trusted. But _ gods, _ she wanted this man. As she stood silently debating with herself, the man in front of her seemed to shrug, and very slowly he moved towards his chamber doors. 

Hermione let out a long slow breath of relief.  _ What was she thinking? And what did she think was going to happen? _ Her shoulders slumped and she half slid down the wall. It was from there that she noticed the dim light spilling out from the doorway where professor Snape had just entered.  _ Uh oh. Had he intentionally left the door open?  _

_ … Of course he had. _ She answered herself irritatedly. The usual Professor Snape did nothing that wasn’t intentional, and she doubted that this one would either. She made her way forward, until she could see the light coming through the door standing ajar. Did she dare go in? This felt like the equivalent of wandering into a sweet-smelling gingerbread house in the woods. Or even more like a lamb walking trustingly into a lion’s den. 

“C’mon Miss Marple,” she muttered, pushing the door open and stepping across the threshold. She stood in a narrow hallway, and as she moved forward, pulling off the invisibility cloak and stuffing it into her small beaded bag, the door swung silently closed behind her. She didn’t hear an ominous click of a lock, but she had no doubt that it was securely shut against anyone else entering, and quite possibly against her getting out. “ _ Fuck me. _ I am  _ not _ the brightest witch of my age.” She couldn’t help berating herself as she made her way forward. “There is no way this is a good idea,” and yet she kept moving forward, a moth drawn to a flame. “Fucking moths.” She muttered as she stepped into the sitting room of Severus Snape. 


	4. Chapter 4

The sitting room was not what she had expected. To be honest, she really hadn’t known what to expect, because she had realized early on that she truly did not know this professor in any personal way that mattered. But the room was cozy. A small comfy looking loveseat by the fire for reading. A finely woven area rug made of a surprisingly soft material she’d never seen before. And of course bookshelves. Floor to ceiling, packed in every nook and cranny, books, books and more books. Her mouth watered in an almost Pavlovian response to the library unveiled before her. She heard a low chuckle and slowly turned to see him leaning against the door to what must be his bedchambers. He watched her, eyes practically scorching her body with his gaze as it took her in from head to toe and back up again. The tilt of his lips and the glint in his eyes was definitely predatory. And amused. An amused predator.  _ Great, _ she thought. 

“Hello, sweet thing. You lose your way?” His greeting trickled down her spine in his lazy low voice. The undertones in the mocking endearment held infinite possibility. She felt her body warm in response. He was no longer wearing the heavy black robes he normally wore, neither as teacher nor Death Eater, but he was instead dressed in black slacks and a white button down shirt, sleeves rolled up above his forearms. This was the most casually dressed she had ever seen him, and when her eyes rested where his pale chest was visible beneath a few unbuttoned buttons at the throat, something must have shown in her face. His smile became positively wicked. “See something you like?” Amusement again flickered in his eyes as she flushed, but he waved nonchalantly towards the bookshelves and she blushed again, realizing he was toying with her. 

“I haven’t seen enough to know what’s there.” She answered carefully, turning to study the bookshelves again. “I’m… not sure if there’s something I’d like.” When she turned back towards him, he was right in front of her, his dancing eyes boring into hers, that violet hued lightning still flickering in the background, though not as brightly as the previous encounters. He slowly circled around where she was standing, finally stopping beyond her field of vision, directly behind her. She could feel his breath tickling the back of her neck as she stood deathly still, unsure what to expect next from him. She felt his forefinger trace down the length of her spine, and she shivered as tingles swept through her body at his touch. 

“Why are you here?” he whispered and she convulsed again at the rustling silk of his voice at her ear and his hot breath on her neck. Her eyes had closed at his first touch, and she was practically trembling. She could feel his eyes on her, his body heat so close, and the smell of him wrapping around her senses like smoke. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed again, trying to keep her voice steady.

“I’m not sure.” She offered a little more breathily than she would have liked. She guessed it was better to be honest than try to play games. Clearly he was the master of those anyway. And she  _ really  _ wasn’t sure at all. She could almost feel his grin at her words. 

“Tsk, tsk. You Gryffindors. Always leaping before you look.” If it weren’t for the seductive tone of his words, she could almost picture that phrase coming out of the mouth of the other Snape, and it left her feeling a little confused, but still terribly turned on. “I warned you about playing with the dark.” With these words, his fingers slid gently around her waist, teasing as he brushed her ribcage with his thumb and moved slowly forward, exploring softly along her abdomen and tracing almost imperceptibly along the protrusion of her hip bone. She gasped and sucked in her breath at this touch and she felt the fire within her stoked with each brush of his fingers. At the same time she felt the soft tickle of his hair fall over her bared shoulder as his nose traced the top of her muscle there. He trailed slowly up her neck before catching her earlobe between his teeth. She very quickly began to realize she was coming undone, and he was going to take her apart piece by piece, and she, without a doubt and very badly,  _ wanted him to. _ She groaned and pushed back into him. She could feel his sharp intake of breath as her body met his. In answer he grazed his teeth down the slope of her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste her at intervals on its journey down. She cried out when his teeth closed over the cord of muscle where neck-meets-shoulder in a not so gentle bite that seemed to rouse something deep inside her. 

With that sound, her cry of pure want and desire, they caught fire. He pulled her roughly back against him as he began devouring her neck. His hands roved forward over her breasts and jeans, touching, kneading, pulling her to him with raw desire. She could no longer stand to just let him touch her, but she was reaching back, searching for his body, touching his hips, his thighs, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him against her in equal measure. It was an awakening. She’d never let desire rule her, she’d always kept her needs carefully controlled, and no one had ever pushed her beyond those bounds, but here it was set loose. He was groaning into her neck and hair, his hands everywhere on her body, beneath her shirt now, sliding across bare skin, running down and over her jeans, rubbing mercilessly between her thighs and over her arse as she writhed and moaned against him. Finally unable to take not having his mouth on hers, she twisted around and by pulling his hair, was finally able to bring his face to hers. Her lips captured his and her tongue explored without hesitation, tasting him and delighting in the sweetness and softness of his lips against hers. For a moment she was sure she’d surprised him, but then he returned the kiss with equal ardor. 

Without realizing that he’d been slowly backing them towards the bookshelf, she suddenly found herself spun around against the shelving, book spines pressing into her back as he took advantage of finally having full access to her mouth. His knee pushed between her thighs, as it had that other time, parting them, teasing the nerves he rubbed in the process, but this time she could also feel his rock hard arousal pressing into her. The wave of desire she felt at that contact made her feel like she wanted to cry out, and something like a choked gasp escaped her lips. His mouth covered hers, as if he could consume the sound, and he returned it with a growl into her mouth as he ground his pelvis into hers. 

Her hands managed to pull his shirt from his pants and her hands began exploring up the bare skin of his back. She felt his body stiffen, and her brain froze for a moment as she registered the ridges her fingers were tracing over. Scars upon scars.  _ Oh gods, what had happened to him? _ Fortunately her lust haze didn’t dull her quick reactions and she didn't even hesitate, just kept kissing and touching, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to sport evidence of having been tortured repeatedly. And she guessed for him, maybe it was. Anyway, who was she to judge on scars. She had a few ugly ones of her own. He relaxed and pushed into her again with another low sound and she pulled him to her desperately. 

She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but at some point they’d transitioned to the bedroom. She vaguely recalled him lifting her, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her out of the sitting room. They’d both lost their shirts at some point and he’d taken her bra off when he sat her on the bed, still standing between her legs. His bed was higher than most beds, and so she sat, perched on the edge and he only had to lean down a little to reach her mouth with his. At this height her center rested against his groin as he continued to grind into her, drawing pants and whimpers out of her as he teased. His fingers, clever as ever, continued to touch and trace her curves in ways that made her shiver and gasp. His mouth made its way down and taking one nipple into his mouth, he sucked and licked until she was moaning incoherently. Pushing her back, he made quick work of the button and fly on her jeans and pulled them off with efficiency. 

His smile went lascivious again as he absorbed the sight of her body spread out before him, clad in nothing but little black knickers. She looked back up at him, pale skin and wiry muscles, chest puckered with old scars. His hair hung forward and reminded her of some rock star of debauched legends. But it was the look in his eyes as he drank her in that had her so wet she was almost embarrassed. And as he turned his attention to her last article of clothing he was about to find out precisely how wet he was making her. 

He kept his eyes locked on hers as he reached down and slowly slid his fingers beneath the thin strips of cloth, hooking them on either side before very slowly dragging them down. Everything he did was a tease, and the sensation of fabric scraping over her hip bones and the tops of her thighs had her biting her lip with barely restrained anticipation. His eyes grew impossibly dark when he finally held the scrap of cloth in his hand and could feel the dampness and see the glistening folds and his nostrils flared. 

“Summer-ripe peach,” he thrummed, with his lips dragging down her thigh, breathing the words against her. “Sun warmed skin,” he inhaled deeply. His lips trailed all the way up her body, nibbling at her breast, before he nuzzled into her neck and breathed in her hair. “Gardenia at night,” his lips made their way to hers and he breathed in her kiss “and ocean air.” His kisses trailed down her shoulder and her arm, tickling her forearm before he traced his nose along her palm. Capturing her index finger in his mouth, he sucked and teased with his tongue. “Mmm. Paperback books,” he said smirked as he finally let it go. His mouth around her finger was incredibly arousing, but she couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped her, and his eyes glinted mischievously. “But, I’m in the mood for tangy… and sticky… and sweet.” His mouth moved back over the crest of her hip, breezed over her stomach, down the center and lowered, closing over her clit; all coherent thought promptly abandoned her. As he began to suck and lick and caress she began moaning and crying and twisting, her fists clutching the sheets beneath her as she tried to stay anchored amidst the onslaught of sensation. He kept teasing and almost bringing her over the edge. Everything he touched felt divine, but she was so close and he was holding off, making her ache for it. 

“Fucking sadist!” She finally growl-shouted at him. She could feel him shaking between her thighs and a deep rumble led her to conclude that he was laughing. Eyes narrowed, she glared down at where he hovered until his eyes came up to meet hers. With one final smirk, his eyes locked on hers as he sunk his fingers into her cunt, his mouth closing over her one last time and with a few flicks of his tongue she cried out and came hard. 

Before she even came back to herself he was standing between her legs, divested of his remaining garments, and with one hard motion thrust into her. Her back arched and she cried out again as she felt him penetrate deep within her. The depth of his reach, the aching pressure as he hit her cervix again and again made her vision go spotted and black as he continued, each stroke driving deep into her. All coherent thought scattered. There was only sensation. Her body was being stretched and pushed. She felt almost feverish as he hit those strange places inside of her that sent shivers of hot and cold wracking through her. He was pounding into her harder and harder and it was all she could do to hold on. He was pulling her towards him with each stroke, gripping her hips, not allowing her body to slip away from him, but she was trying to stay anchored as well, trying to throw her weight towards him at each impact. 

It felt like they went on like that forever. She didn’t want it to end. It was all feeling, all throughout her body; there was no thought, no worry, no fear or puzzles or war. Feeling was all that existed in that moment. The friction of him moving inside of her. She felt the orgasm building within her. It somehow came from within this time, a different place than the first one. It started in that feverish place of friction and expanded outward, rolling more sensation into itself, gathering momentum and drawing her entire body into it. She began thrashing more wildly and the sounds she was making were more primal and uncontrolled. It fed his fervor and he sped up, sweat dripping down his face, as he buried himself inside her again and again, pushing her to the brink. She screamed when she came, a sound she’d never heard herself make before, for an orgasm she’d never known before. His dark eyes drank in the sight of her, crackling with that wild light before he too shouted as he emptied himself into her. 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

She woke up in the gray light of dawn. For a moment she wasn’t sure where she was, but then it all came hurtling back at her. She idly wondered how light filtered down to the dungeons anyway, but the obvious answer was magic. She was sore and stiff all over, but she ached in a really good way.  _ I feel like I was fucked by a mac-truck.  _ She chortled to herself as she realized that made absolutely no sense. Disturbingly mixed metaphors. Clearly her brain hadn’t woken up yet. She turned her head and could see Severus asleep in the bed next to her.  _ He was definitely Severus at this point, _ her brain quipped.  _ Yeah, no going back to ‘Sir’ after this…  _

She studied him cautiously. Some of his hair had fallen over his face, but the stress lines were relaxed in this state and he really did look years younger like this.  _ And happier, _ She thought. She wondered if he ever  _ was _ happy. She would assume  _ not _ if his usual persona was any indication, but then again, she didn’t really know him. He stirred and the arm that was draped across her chest tightened possessively and pulled her closer to him. She let him and snuggled closer to his warmth, turning onto her side so that he could spoon her properly. His arm tightened around her and his hands seemed to begin unconscious explorations as he seemed to be coming out of the depths of sleep. His caress felt so good, that she was almost drifting off into a dreamy state again when she suddenly felt his body stiffen and his hand froze, just as it had grazed over her hardened nipple. He jerked it back as if it had been burned. She wasn’t sure what to expect this morning, but it definitely  _ wasn’t _ this. 

“Fuck!” His voice was sharp and livid. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Her stomach dropped and she could feel a knot rapidly forming in the pit of it. She really hadn’t thought this all the way through, she realized. Afraid to move, she stayed exactly where she was, her back to him, unable to see his face, but not really wanting to at this point.  _ Shit. This was  _ not _ good. _ She could hear the covers being thrown back, footsteps, and then the door to the bathroom slamming. 

She lay there in the empty silence, but her thoughts began to pick up speed. What should she do? Should she quick grab her clothes and make a run for it before he came back. Maybe he  _ intended _ to stay in there until she left. What would happen if she tried to stay. Would he be willing to talk at all? And what was she hoping that they could talk out? She blew a curl that had fallen into her face away with an exasperated breath.  _ Well damn.  _ Her fear and frustration were quickly giving way to anger.  _ How dare he? _ She didn’t care what was going on, he didn’t get to invite her in, enjoy her in sexually explicit detail, and then be angry at her for existing! Maybe it  _ was _ a split personality. Because however much  _ Dark Snape _ or  _ Severus _ had made the invitation and delighted in sampling her assorted carnal pleasures, clearly  _ Professor Snape _ was the one who had to live with the fallout of a faculty member having fucked a student.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, was right. _

Why had she assumed minimal collateral damage?  _ Because  _ he _ started it,  _ that little voice in her brain piped up. Hmmm. So he had. Maybe she  _ should _ stay and talk. Just so she didn’t have to live the next month panicking about what he might be thinking or what he might do. She needed to know where they stood and how he wanted to proceed. Part of her wanted to stay wrapped in the bedsheet for the conversation, knowing it would give her a little leverage being able to put him off balance, but she reconsidered as he’d probably just leave if she made him even more uncomfortable.  _ If _ he stayed at all in the first place. 

Slowly she got out of bed, wincing as her body reminded her of last night’s vigorous activities.  _ Gods that man knows how to fuck. _ She thought.  _ Or knew. Or that other man that was also Snape. He knows. Or knew. _ It was getting a bit ‘Schrodinger’s cat’ in her head, and it was too early in the morning to be doing mental gymnastics. Mental yoga was better. Savasana. Smirking to herself she eased into a few yoga stretches, still completely naked of course. No, she needed her brain to wake up so she could think this through rationally. 

Dressed in yesterday’s clothing with her hair messily pulled up on top of her head again, she did a quick refreshing charm to clean up her face and yesterday’s trace makeup. And a cleansing charm on her knickers. She felt good, despite the dread of the conversation to come. She hadn’t been laid in ages, and that was hands down the best sex she’d ever experienced. Too bad it was apparently a one time only offer. She sighed and settled cross legged on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. She had heard the water shut off a little while ago and she sucked in her breath as the door opened again. Severus stepped out wearing a pair of loose fitting charcoal gray pajama bottoms and no shirt. He’d shaved and showered and he’d clearly been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized that his wards had not yet indicated her exit. He looked at her mutinously, and it looked like he was going to start shouting “fuck” again, so she jumped in with what she thought might be a helpful distraction. 

“Do you remember anything from last night?” She asked, trying to keep her voice calm and steady.  _ Non-reactive, _ she coached.  _ That’s what she needed to be to get through this conversation.  _ His lips thinned and he narrowed his eyes at her. 

“What are you still doing here?” he barked. His voice sharp and prickly, nothing like the smooth silks of last night. 

“What, you expected me to leave without knowing what the hell is happening? To live in fear of how you might react to this? You expected me to walk away, completely in the dark about a mystery that now personally involves my person. You thought I’d just leave…?” Her eyebrows rose. “Have you met me?” 

His face looked like he wanted to do violence. Not necessarily to her, she felt, but possibly some furniture or breakable items, if he happened to have any on hand. He was practically twitching with anger, except she also noticed that he kept glaring and looking away and then back again, and his gaze seemed to be focusing on her neck.  _ Ahhh.  _ She’d noticed that as she was freshening up. It was practically a bruise where he’d bit her. It didn’t hurt, but it had definitely left a lasting mark. A bit animalistic, if she thought about it. Territorial even. And kind of hot. Her fingers reached up and brushed it without meaning to and she saw him flinch and look away.  _ Interesting.  _

“It doesn’t hurt.” She said neutrally. Then added, “and I enjoyed the whole night thoroughly. It was my choice, you know.” She wanted to make that clear, in case he didn’t remember and was afraid he’d done something she hadn’t invited. A funny look crossed his face, and he still looked pained, but at least the murderous glint in his eye had faded. If anything, he almost looked uncomfortable. 

“Do you need contraception?” he kept his voice low, eyes down, an attempt at neutrality in the face of what must be a wildly uncomfortable topic for him. 

“No, but thank you. I’ve been on oral contraceptives for several years.” His eyes jerked back to hers, and she saw questions forming there, but frankly  _ that was none of his goddamned business. _ She’d talked to Poppy about it, and apparently the muggle pill was equally effective for witches, and not nullified by magic like some medications. 

“And I take it that was not your… first time?” This question came out haltingly, clearly another area about which his face indicated that he would prefer to be maimed rather than discuss. 

She barely concealed a snort. No, her virginity was long past. The thought pricked her curiosity though, and she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a first lover he would have been. She couldn’t decide why it was relevant, but she answered succinctly, even if a bit dryly. 

“No…” However, she couldn’t help the eyebrow that rose of its own accord, a habit she’d copied from him, of course. She thought she saw something twitch in his face. It might have even been humor, if their circumstances were different. But right now she was still trying to get to the bottom of this mystery. “So, was last night the Mr. Hyde to your Dr. Jekyll - sorry, nevermind - what I mean is do you have some kind of split personality?” She finished, realizing that most people in the wizarding world wouldn’t get the Robert Louis Stevenson reference. But of course Snape wasn’t most people and she could have sworn this time she  _ did _ see a twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m sure you’ve known me long enough to be wondering as to which version of myself might be Mr. Hyde.” 

“True, I was going to start calling this the infamous case of Mr. Hyde and Mr. Hyde. Or the mysterious disappearance of Dr. Jekyll. Hadn’t decided yet.” 

“Oh, it’s a case already, is it?” There was a smirk this time, but before she could quip back, he’d caught himself and let out a long exasperated sigh. “Miss Granger-”

“Hermione.” 

“Miss Granger-” 

“No, it’s Hermione. You can go back to calling me Miss Granger in the classroom, but right now when I just woke up naked in your bed, you will call me Hermione.  _ Severus _ .” He grimaced and she watched his eyes flare at this, and he grunted before folding his arms over his chest, staring her down with a cool gaze. 

“Hermione, then,” he said crisply. “Why were you waiting for me in the halls when I returned from a Death Eater summons?” His bluntness and change of topic caught her off guard and she looked guiltily down at her hands on her lap and chewed at her lip nervously. “Well?” 

She decided to answer him honestly. “The first time was an accident and you’d collapsed in the hallway, so I helped you to your room.” They were both very quiet and she wondered if he had any recollection of  _ that _ event. “And so I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen the next time you were summoned… but the next time… you returned and you were… different.” She could hear the changing note in her voice and saw his head jerk up to watch her. “Do you remember?” She asked again, this time more hesitantly. 

He nodded his head jerkily before finally huffing curtly, “Yes, I remember. I was not fully in control of myself at the time, but I do not usually… lose time.” 

“Were you drugged?” She asked bluntly. He sighed. 

“In a way,” he answered noncommittally. He watched her as she waited for further explanation. None seemed to be forthcoming. 

“Is Miss Marple going to be shocked to discover the Death Eaters and Dark Lord are just a big group of stoners who like to get really, really high?” 

He couldn’t seem to help it and the corner of his mouth turned up. “Are you Miss Marple in this scenario?” 

“That depends. Did you get really high and seduce Miss Marple?” At his look of horror and incredulity she couldn’t keep in the laugh that had been building with the growing absurdity of the banter and she doubled over, chortling in her amusement. “Sorry, sorry. That may have been a step too far. Poor Miss Marple.” 

“Hmm…” Snape mused softly. “From what you implied earlier it rather sounds like she would have missed out…” Hermione’s cheeks warmed at the recollection of last night, but the smile didn’t leave her face. Struggling to change the tone but seeming reluctant to quit their banter he drawled instead, “Maybe you’re not Miss Marple at all, but that annoying Nancy Drew.” 

“That would probably be a step up in bed, though I’m hardly one to underestimate the value of experience over youth. But, I’m pretty sure the only ones who thought Ms. Drew was annoying, were the villains.” 

“Untrue. I’m quite certain she annoyed  _ everyone _ in her mundane little world. Readers included.” He looked at her pointedly. Then added silkily, “You must be thinking of the villains of Scooby Doo. And if you’re Velma, then I’ll just have to be grateful that you didn’t drag Shaggy and Scooby into this mystery.” 

She couldn’t help the unexpected laugh that escaped her at that. She tried to look affronted, but couldn’t quite muster it. _The picture of Harry and Ron as Shaggy and Scooby was hilariously apt. Especially when Ron was eating, she thought._ _When did Severus Snape become_ funny _?_ _This was just surreal. And_ obviously _she was Velma._ _And how was he so familiar with all these muggle references?_ She had always assumed that he had been raised in the wizarding world. Once again she was reminded that she knew nothing at all about this man. Except now she’d been given some fodder and it only served to fan the flames of curiosity. Sometimes she wished she could be a little less Velma/Nancy Drew/Miss Marple. 

It was then that she realized there had been a question hidden in his comment, and she replied carefully, “I don’t think this is a mystery I’ll be sharing with the Scooby gang. Or anyone for that matter. It’s none of their business.” While his face never changed, she thought she saw something ease in his eyes, but the overall tightness remained. 

Her stomach growled, drawing both their attention, and it seemed to recall him to himself. She was glad that at least he had continued to have this conversation minus a shirt; it felt like one last thread still tying them to the previous night’s pleasures. She could at least admire his chest, scarred though it was, while being ejected from the fantasy world of last night. She was grateful he hadn’t buttoned himself up fully into Professor Snape just yet. 

“You should be heading to breakfast now.” His voice recovering its mask of cool indifference. 

She sighed. “Are you going to tell me about Mr. Hyde?”

“No.” He snapped. 

“Fine,” She said, shuffling out of the bed and searching for her shoes. “I’ll just have to ask him next time I see him.” This last part was said with a sly look over to where Severus stood, and she could see his body stiffen in anger. 

“You are my  _ student.”  _ He ground out slowly. 

“Wartime rules” She said dismissively. “We both know I don’t need your class to pass the NEWTs. No one would question my grades regardless. I’m a student yes, but also one who has been drawn into the very  _ epicenter _ of this fucking war. And let’s not pretend for  _ one _ second that we’re here  _ at a school  _ because I should be in classes learning. We’re  _ here _ because this is the best defensible location resisting infiltration by spies or corrupt ministry officials. None of us would be  _ in school _ if the war brought us somewhere else. School is the pretense. These are  _ unusual _ times to say the least.” Here, her face changed and she hesitated. “And you obviously need… something.” She left that last word as an unspoken question. He looked away. “Tell. Me. What. Is. Going. On.” She said slowly. “You owe me that at least.” As soon as those last words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. 

His face contorted into something ugly and he spat, “I owe you NOTHING. I warned you to stay away, and you disregarded that warning. Now get out!” 

She’d been on the receiving end of Snape’s anger and sharp words more times than she cared to count, but there was something this time that made her truly quail at his rage, and she hurriedly grabbed her bag and dashed to the door. Without looking back she yanked open the ancient door and bolted down the hall towards the stairs. 

Panting she stopped in the corridor before reaching the main staircases. Overwhelmingly grateful that it was currently the holidays and the halls were abandoned, she realized with horror that she had forgotten how she must look and quickly glamoured herself so the mark at her neck and any other signs of indiscretion were hidden. She put her hands on her knees taking deep breaths.  _ Well that went well. _ She thought wryly.  _ Fuck.  _ _ Now what? _

Scenes from the night before replayed in her head over and over again as she spent the last of the afternoon in the solitude of the library. Her insides curled and her thighs clenched and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears as she recalled his fingers on her skin, his lips on hers, his tongue tasting her all over. She knew she was in deep, deep trouble. Their conversation and banter featured as well, but so did his utter fury. His overwhelming reaction to her such a mundane phrase made her brain churn to better understand where that might have come from. Clearly he was extremely reactive to what he might have considered manipulation or emotional blackmail? She had meant it as neither, but that obviously didn’t change anything. Having the day to herself had helped restore some equilibrium, but she could feel that she was starting to get anxious and fidgety, which usually indicated her need to be alone was coming to an end and now she would be needing a distraction. 

Packing up the necessities for the remaining holidays, she made her way to go find Minerva. Working closely with the Order, Professor McGonagall had indeed become Minerva. Albus had offered his first name, but she had yet to use it. And obviously Professor Snape had kept her, and anyone else… at arm's length. She snickered at the image and last night’s memory of his arm snaking around her from behind, pulling her close, and suddenly she was breathing heavy.  _ Again.  _


	6. Chapter 6

When she finally arrived at Grimmauld Place, the place was a madhouse. Ginny, Harry, Ron and the twins were running rampant through the house laughing and throwing a miniature quaffle, Mrs. Black was screaming about blood traitors, scum, and mudbloods. Mrs. Weasley was yelling for them to stop, Mr. Weasley and Sirius were having an animated debate about some topic or other. Minerva gave her one pointed look and a smug smile and turned on her heel to leave. 

“Hey!” She exclaimed, but McGonagall just shut the door quietly behind her with a snick. She smiled to herself. No fair. Well, she was the one who had wanted a distraction. She made her way to the room she and Ginny would be sharing and put away the few things she had brought before sitting on the bed. 

Maybe she  _ was _ in over her head with Snape. Maybe she shouldn’t have opened this pandora’s box involving a master spy almost twice her age in the middle of a goddamned war. And how was he feeling about it? Was he glad for what had happened? Did he regret it? Was  _ he _ feeling conflicted? Would it affect his role as spy? She rolled her eyes. Surely, she could give him more credit than that. Just because it was affecting  _ her _ this strongly, did not mean that she had somehow compromised him. That was a bit egotistical, even for her. She heard the rustle of fabric and looked up. The large oil canvas was empty, except for the muddy green-brown background, but she grinned anyway. “Phineas, my good sir. Would you be a dear and let Mrs. Black know that I have brought the turpentine this time, and would she be sweet enough to keep it down?” She heard a snort from just beyond the portrait frame and a drawled response. 

“You know I’m not an errand boy. But just this once, I dare say that the entertainment value might tip the scale in your favor.” She heard shuffling as he made his way into a neighboring painting in the hall. At least Mrs. Black’s portrait had been magically confined to her single frame. Otherwise she would no doubt enjoy screaming obscenities in their bedrooms at all hours of the night. But Hermione had to admit that she’d actually grown to enjoy the old Slytherin headmaster. She realized that she must have really changed over these past several years. He used to offend and aggravate, but at some point during these arduous times, her humor had taken on a darker, snarkier timbre, and she actually enjoyed banter with him these days.  _ Huh. _ She thought. She wondered if that internal change had any connection to her awakened interest in a different dark and snarky Slytherin. Had she really changed so much? And was it a good or a bad thing? And did others see it as well? After her encounter the other night, she was pretty sure Albus still saw the good little Gryffindor of years previous.  _ Oh well,  _ she shrugged.  _ Distraction. _ She’d come here for distraction. Not more morose musings. Downstairs Mrs. Black's painting finally quieted down. Hermione smirked.

The next few days were a blur. It was full of food and friends and laughter, which was a welcome change from the usual stress of weekly war councils. She didn’t see Severus, even at the one meeting they did have on the 23rd. She wasn’t surprised; he didn’t always come to the official meetings. She wasn’t sure when she would see him again, or if it would only be in Potions Master capacity who merely tolerated her, or Spy for the Order- who ignored her entirely (though he ignored everyone else also, save for the looks of pure loathing he shot at Sirius from time to time). When he was there, he rarely spoke except when called upon to give a report. 

Christmas Day came and went in a relaxed contentedness that she hoped to hold onto, especially as the reports began to roll in of increased violence and disturbances as they approached the New Year. Severus (as she had now begun referring to him at all times in her head) finally made an appearance on the 30th around dinner time. 

Those living in the house usually took their meals in shifts, and it was her, Ginny, Harry, and Ron sitting around the table when Severus made his way into the kitchen to deposit teacup and dishes from wherever and with whomever he had been meeting, assumedly the headmaster. She glanced up, and although she was certain his eyes had flicked to her when he entered, he was pointedly avoiding her gaze. She lowered her eyes to keep from staring, but it was at that moment that Ron managed to take a large bite off of a drumstick and seemed to be slurping it down, as if he were hoping to swallow the thing whole. She couldn’t stop watching. Before she could stop herself, her shoulders started to shake and a stifled snicker erupted from her; in that moment Ron reminded her of none other than Scooby-Doo trying to scarf down a meal. 

At first Severus turned sharply to glare at her, perhaps he thought she was laughing at him; but the anger in his eyes quickly changed as he saw what she was looking at, obviously recalling their private jest. Their eyes met and again she saw that twitching at the corner of his lips. No one else was looking at Severus, so they couldn’t see when he raised an eyebrow at her before exiting the room. As he did so she could have sworn she heard a murmured, “Velma.” She couldn’t contain her mirth any longer, and burst out laughing. The others looked at her like she had finally lost it, but she just pointed at Ron, tears streaming down her face. He smiled with amused self-deprecation and the others joined in, though clearly not finding Ron’s eating habits nearly as hilarious as she did. 

It was finally New Year’s Eve. The other Order members were out, attempting to keep unsuspecting muggles and unwary wizards from danger. Tonight was going to be bloody. She knew it. Voldemort was getting frustrated with their ongoing resistance efforts and he was hoping to bait them onto open ground. Those who remained at the house had made a somber toast at midnight, everyone wishing for a better new year or for the war to be over and had quietly gone to bed. Ron had tried to give her a kiss, but she’d shrugged away, letting a peck on the cheek be the end of it. She realized whatever interest she’d thought she had in Ron had faded. Thinking about it without the confusion of loneliness, hormones, and fear for the future she could see that if the circumstances were different they would probably be friends, but unlikely anything more. She also wondered if right now it was partly that she was literally the only girl available to him. He couldn’t confide in anyone outside the Order about anything meaningful. He didn’t want to endanger anyone by making them leverage against him, and he wasn’t the kind of guy who could unemotionally set up a fuck-buddy arrangement. He would want more. And right now that just wasn’t possible. So he’d settled on her. At least that’s what it felt like when she looked at it with some perspective. 

He wasn’t what  _ she _ wanted either. That much was clear. They shared very few interests, aside from friendship with Harry and a desire to put this war to an end. He was intelligent, but didn’t enjoy discussing theory or discoveries the way she did. And, he didn’t read… which was a far bigger turnoff than she would have anticipated. She just couldn’t understand someone who only read what they had to, nothing more. She couldn't’ help it when her mind drifted back to Snape’s shelves upon shelves of books. She shifted uncomfortably. Who knew books could be so erotic? Her eyes roved around to take in her current surroundings with a smile. She had opted to stay up reading in the library. The house was quiet and the fire crackled softly as it made it’s slow descent to embers. The defensive spell book sat open on her flannel pajama bottoms, but the words had finally stopped making any sense. It was a quarter to four and she supposed she should just go to bed, but she wasn’t sure she could sleep regardless. Not knowing how badly things could go tonight. 

It took her a moment to realize that the air in the library had changed. There was a charge, like static electricity that hadn’t been there before. She looked up to find him leaning against the wall watching her. Her heart faltered. The air felt thick and her breaths felt labored and shallow. His eyes were slightly hooded, but she could see that strange light in them regardless. And he was looking at her like she was lunch. She swallowed. Glancing at the door, she realized he’d already closed it and warded it. Thankfully there were no picture frames in here either. 

“I thought I smelled summer up here.” 

She swallowed hard at all the things his voice and words recollected in her body, and she felt her core throbbing with no more than a look and a single sentence from him.  _ Definitely in over my head.  _

His lips curved into a slow smile as if he could read the thought. She tried to maintain coherent reasoning. She needed to get answers before he turned her into a puddle. 

“What’s with the eyes?” She asked, focusing on something concrete in the hopes of getting an actual answer out of him. His grin became absolutely wolfish. 

“The better to see you with, my sweet.” 

_ Uh oh. _ She thought. Her mind raced. She needed to keep it light, she decided. Jokingly she queried, “Oh I’m  _ your  _ sweet now, am I?” 

The grin remained. “Of course you are.” His silky voice made it sound delicious and sultry; and like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The way he said it made the words  _ feel _ like they were his hands caressing her posessively, and she had to bite back a moan. He added, “ _ You’re  _ the one who stepped through the looking glass, Alice. Finders keepers. Much to  _ my _ delight.” 

Her mouth went dry. For a moment she forgot to breathe. She tried to shake it, but her body was already responding to him. She needed to stay focused, she chided herself angrily.  _ You need answers! Not more questions, dummy.  _

“I don’t belong to anyone.” She retorted calmly. Or at least she hoped it sounded calm. “Besides,” she added, this time with a little more bite to her words, “How do I know you don’t go around doing this to every little  _ ‘sweet thing’ _ you come across?” She saw something flicker across his features, but it didn’t change the smile that promised a thousand indecent things, and he shrugged. 

“You can believe of me what you like. But truthfully, this is… out of the ordinary. … I normally have more self-control.” He smirked and that wolfish gleam came back double; he looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the idea of not ‘being in control’ right about now. 

The thought excited her and terrified her a little. What was Snape if not a creature of control? He walked a tight-rope of danger; to lose control, for him, was to take his life in his hands. 

He added in a smoky voice with a smile, “Perhaps, I was never  _ tempted _ before.” 

She snorted. “Sure, it’s my fault now, is it?” His eyes glinted and he took a step closer to where she sat on the couch and her body stilled in that freeze that happens just before the fight or flight response kicks in.  _ Fight or flight  _ or fuck. Her brain provided helpfully. 

“Come here.” He crooked his finger at her. 

So accustomed to obeying the man, she was halfway across the room before her brain kicked in and reminded her this was  _ not _ the classroom. She stopped where she was, a few feet in front of the low backed couch. He smirked. 

She shivered at the chill of the room now that she’d left the pocket of warmth surrounding the fireplace. He slowly advanced on her, eyes never leaving hers, the crackling behind them intense. She watched him draw near, her heart pounding louder and louder with each approaching step. She licked her lips nervously. There were so many things flickering in his eyes. Things she wasn’t sure she recognized. Things she had  _ no way _ of recognizing in the face of someone for whom she had no roadmap or key. She could read the anticipation, but she was sure she also saw hesitation. She saw lust, but also something that might have been more akin to  _ hunger _ . And fear. She was sure she caught a glimpse of fear. But swirling over it all was a thick simmering lust. She could get lost in the abyss of his eyes. The violet lightning was brighter this evening. Flashing in the background of his penetrating gaze. For a moment they just stayed like that. Bodies almost touching, eyes locked, studying each other as the tension built. 

Like the crest of a wave, he finally broke and his lips crashed down on hers. His hands were all over her, caressing her back over the flannel, roughly plunging into her hair, slipping beneath the hem of her nightshirt, up over bare back and around to cup her unfettered breasts. He groaned when he squeezed their soft weight in his palm, old calluses scraping over her nipple causing her to return the sound. Her arms had risen to hold tightly to his neck, pulling him down to her, slim fingers twining in his silken black hair. They devoured each other with lips and mouth and tongue, pulling each other as close as their bodies could go. 

She wasn’t sure how long their lust-fueled kisses had gone on, but her body was becoming feverish with desire. What had started out incredibly passionate had risen to practically a frenzy. She was moaning and crying out, he was grunting and groaning back against her. With a sudden movement he spun her round, and pushed her forward over the cushioned arm of the sofa. She cried out in surprise, but didn’t stop him as his hands hooked into the elastic of her bottoms and dragged them roughly down until she felt the shock of cold air on the bare skin of her bottom. She heard him growl as his one hand squeezed and kneaded over her exposed cheeks, his other hand busy unfastening buttons until he had his cock in hand. By now she was absolutely soaking wet, and she hadn’t been wearing knickers at all. Unceremoniously, he shoved deep inside her and she shuddered with the abrupt entry. Without waiting he started riding her furiously, pulling himself out as far as he could go before thrusting all the way back in again. 

She was writhing and panting and she could feel the brush of his shirt and pants on her bare skin and feel the elastic of her pajama pants at mid-thigh -they had only been pulled down far enough to allow him entry. Somehow this image of them both almost fully clothed, bent over a couch, wantonly fucking almost toppled her over the edge. His swollen member continued to batter her from within, abrading every nerve ending, from clit to cervix. He was fucking her senseless, and the feel of his fingers digging into her hips was the kind of pain that slid into pleasure and she could feel herself coming undone as her front rubbed mercilessly over the fabric of the couch arm.  _ So fucking good… _ her brain repeated incoherently. And then she was there. The orgasm hit her like a train, crashing into her and obliterating even the semblance of coherent thought. His last furious thrusts pressed her deeper into the couch, face down and her cries were muffled into the cushions as she heard his final obscenity as he came. 

It felt like hours had passed, but in truth it was probably only a few minutes. She still lay face pressed into the couch, he standing behind her, still buried inside of her. She sighed contentedly. Well, that was one way to blow off steam. Her body felt boneless and trembly, but the roar of pounding blood in her ears was beginning to subside. 

“Mmmphmn mmmph,” she finally voiced, her face muffled by cushion and hair. 

“I would have to agree,” he remarked dryly, and she snorted in amusement. Finally pulling out of her with what sounded like a disappointed grunt, he cast a cleansing charm on the both of them before tucking himself back into his clothes and gently pulling up her pajama bottoms, sliding them under her hips, even as she still lay there, folded over the couch. His fingers lingered on her bare skin. “Is this how you intend to remain for remainder of the morning hours?” A hint of amusement in his smooth tones. 

“Yes.” she said simply, the word still muffled.

Now it was his turn to snort. “The discretion of a Gryffindor,” he snarked. But then, more gently than she would have imagined, he carefully gathered her up off her belly and pulled her onto his lap as he sunk down into the couch. She was deeply surprised, but didn’t want to show it, so she ducked her head down and nuzzled closer into his chest, inhaling deeply his scent of wood smoke and ozone, herbs and tobacco. 

“You smoke?” She asked, surprised. 

“Mmmphh.” He answered noncommittally, mimicking her earlier response. 

She could tell her brain was coming back online as she began to wonder how long he’d smoked, and where he bought cigarettes, and when he had a chance to take a cigarette break in the castle or if he even did? But then her brain took her to another question. 

“Hey-” She started, and felt his body stiffen, as if worried she was going to launch into a lecture about the health risks of smoking. She smiled.  _ Like he wasn’t aware. Like being a double agent didn’t carry  _ considerably _ higher health risks, _ she thought snarkily. “No, unrelated topic-” she clarified and felt him relax again a fraction, although clearly still on guard as to whether she was going to start playing twenty questions again. “I was wondering, you mentioned paperback books from the  _ local _ library,” she blushed as she recalled the context of that mention, but she really was curious. “How do you know about muggle libraries -or is there some wizarding version of which I’m not aware?  _ And, _ you also seem quite familiar with muggle literature.” 

She thought she could feel him smile into her hair. Then more seriously he responded, though she wasn’t sure he had intended to. “My father was a muggle.” There was a long pause after that sentence, and she could feel that it was pregnant with unspoken things. But he went on, “The area where I grew up didn’t have much to offer; when I was about seven, a local library opened in the next town over. I spent as much time as I could there, especially summers. They didn’t have a lot, but I read everything I could get my hands on.” She thought that was the end of his train of thought, but to her surprise he added, “It was my sanctuary.” 

She made a sound of understanding. ‘Sanctuary’ is exactly what she would have called the library near her growing up. The characters in those novels and biographies had been her first real friends. Her  _ only _ friends, she reminded herself. At least for quite awhile. 

“Favorites?” She asked. He made another funny sound. 

“Then? Or Now?” She could hear the smirk in his voice. “I loved Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe. But I enjoyed reading through the whole Encyclopedia Britannica and biography section. The library didn’t get much new content, except for trashy Harlequins… so eventually I read those too.” She laughed at the idea of him as a young boy turning the pages of dog-eared bodice rippers. 

She decided to offer up something too. “For the longest time, my biggest secret was that I would go to the library’s romance section, and if you gently hold the paperbacks on the top and bottom of the spine and let the pages hang down, you can see the places that have been read the most and open it directly to the most scandalous parts.” She smiled to herself. “I was never brave enough to check any of them out, but it didn’t stop me from stealing them off to a musty-smelling corner somewhere while I was there.” She felt his chest vibrate at this. 

They sat there for a while longer with their own thoughts before she sighed deeply and slowly made to extricate herself from his hold. She knew it was approaching six a.m. and someone in the house would be stirring soon. His fingers tightened momentarily on her body before letting go and allowing her to stand up. She stretched when she stood, her bare stomach exposed to him in the process. A cat-who-got-the-cream smile spread across his face and his eyebrow lifted slightly. 

She grinned. “I’m pretty sure I should head to my room now, before someone wakes up or misses me, but  _ especially _ before your alter ego shows up and starts berating me for what  _ you _ got up to tonight.” His smile only widened as he watched her. She raised her eyebrow back at him in mockery. He just leaned back, arms propped behind his head, stretching out in full on the couch, that nonchalant sex appeal still seeping from him like an aroma. 

“Sweet dreams,” she said, batting her eyes at him playfully, drawing another feline grin from him before she left. She undid the silencing and privacy charms as she went, deeply thankful he’d put up both. Closing the doors behind her, she almost didn’t catch his quiet reply. 

“‘Til next time, sweet thing.” It sent shivers down her spine, and she hurried back to her room. 


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione didn’t see Dark Snape/Severus or Professor Snape for the remainder of her time at Grimmauld Place. She supposed that was just as well. Ginny had acted weird about her “falling asleep in the library.” And, it woudln’t do for “sex-on-a-stick Snape” to show up in front of anyone else and confuse everyone. And she really was worried about how things were going to go the next time she saw the Potions Master. She just wanted answers, but it didn’t look like she was going to get any further clarity. At least not from him. She was still mulling over the cryptic answers she’d gotten from  _ the hot one. _ She’d started making up ridiculous names in her head for the two of them and at least the entertainment factor was keeping her fretting at bay. On a different note, Ron didn’t seem to be picking up on her “we’re just friends” signals, so she’d probably have to spell it out for him soon. 

Term would start again tomorrow, and so it would be back to classes and back to defensive training and regular Order meetings. She’d actually dropped a number of her classes. The professors had supplied her with the syllabi, and she had been able to study for most of the NEWT material on her own. What did it even matter anyway? They would probably allow students to retake them after the war.  _ If they could ever get around to winning,  _ she thought cynically. Gods knew what kind of post-apocalyptic world they’d be living in if Voldemort came out the winner. But for now, fewer classes meant more strategy meetings, defense and dueling drills and research. 

She’d briefly toyed with the idea of dropping Advanced Potions in order to disentangle any conflicts of interest that Professor Snape might have. But at this point she figured that was more likely to act as a red flag to the headmaster and instead invite a variety of unwanted questions she wasn’t interested in answering. But truthfully potions with Snape was one of her favorite pastimes. Besides, this way she could continue to study him without having to go out of her way. Her own brand of research. For her very own Miss Marple mystery. 

Potions went by without incident that week. And the next. Snape, for the most part, simply ignored her. He’d never given her particular attention, except to deride her, Harry and Ron, but she could tell he was going out of his way to be especially indifferent. Since the other two were no longer in his class, he barely even looked in her direction. But she also knew that he could feel her watching him. She was fairly certain that he was moderately uncomfortable with this development. But what could he do? She also realized, somewhere into this endeavor, that she’d  _ always _ enjoyed watching him, and had been subconsciously admiring him for years. His hands were elegant and graceful, he moved deftly with smooth precise movements while brewing. His sarcastic remarks, while biting, were often quite amusing (if you weren’t on the receiving end), and the way he held himself… Well, it wasn’t the same relaxed sensual grace that his counterpart embodied that just dripped sexual confidence and suggestion. But it was almost like she could now see that side of him, just below the surface. It was hidden behind more purposeful movements and a tightly controlled tone of voice, but it was definitely still there. She simply hadn’t had the eyes to see it before. 

In her spare time, she also puzzled over all the things he’d said to her. Both versions of himself. He said he didn’t “lose time,” which she assumed meant that he remembered everything he did when he wasn’t acting “like himself.” She wondered what he thought of their little trysts. And she wondered if he thought about them as often as she did. If they fueled his fantasies at night the way they did hers. 

She sighed. At least this was giving her the opportunity to practice her poker face. Or as she called it, _ her spy mask. _ Severus was  _ so _ good at not giving anything away when he was maintaining his facade. She had noticed in the past that he was especially impassive in the Order meetings, looking practically bored. Then, as she observed more intentionally, she noticed that it was particularly pronounced around Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. Since they were present at most Order meetings, she realized that was probably the reason for it. There was no question that the bad blood between them remained. 

By now it was February, and Severus hadn’t been summoned in more than a month now. She could tell it was starting to wear on him, making him especially short-fused and agitated. She imagined that while it might just mean that the Dark Lord hadn’t needed him specifically, it must be unnerving to have to wait and wonder if his cover had been blown or if some unanticipated horrors were being plotted or perpetrated. Harry had let her hold onto the Marauder’s Map again, and she was checking it with regularity. Tonight was yet another hollow-feeling Friday night. She’d hung out in the common room for a while with some of the other seventh years, but eventually she’d made her way back to her bed. When she finally saw his name leave the map she took a deep breath, folded the map and lay back, contemplating what to do next. 

At half past two he still hadn’t returned. The worry had turned into a solid ball sticking in her gut, and she wondered if the Order had some kind of plan if his cover was burned.  _ Did they have a way to rescue him? _ she pondered before chiding herself angrily.  _ Don’t be naive, Hermione. If he gets caught he’s not coming back. At least not in one piece.  _ Sometimes she hated thinking like an adult.  _ Fucking realism. _ She had even started contemplating alerting Dumbledore, although he probably already knew that Snape had been summoned, when the map in her hand did something very odd. The ink outline of the halls seemed to shrink and recede, like the font was being made smaller and smaller. But it allowed the castle as a whole to fit on a smaller space and she suddenly realized it was showing her the whole grounds, all the way to the front gates. And right outside those front gates was the name Severus Snape. And he didn’t look to be moving. 

Jumping up and throwing on a fleece against the cold, she pulled on her sheepskin boots, disillusioned herself and practically fell down the stairs in her haste to make it outside. The castle was deserted, and she moved silently, a shimmer of shadow in the pale moonlight. When she finally made it to him, she could see some blood pooled in the snow, and his form was frighteningly still. 

“Fuck.” She managed to roll his unmoving form over and check for a pulse. It was there, faint, but steady and she took a deep breath. Using minor healing spells she was able to stop the bleeding, but as she did so his body started shaking and seemed to be caught in a violent tremor. “Oh gods. I need to get you to Poppy.” Carefully she managed a mobilicorpus and moved him forward as quickly as she dared, her hand still holding his wrist in an attempt to comfort him as well as monitor his pulse. As they approached the main entrance he started to moan as he surfaced from unconsciousness. His gaze swept over her, but she wasn’t sure if he was actually seeing her or his surroundings. 

“My rooms… potion…” he rasped as another tremor gripped him. 

“I’m taking you to the Hospital Wing. You’re badly hurt.” 

She had been holding onto his wrist but instead he grabbed it forcefully. “No-” His snarl was weak. “Rooms. Potion.” 

“Fine!” She snapped back at him. “Your rooms and some potion. I just hope you can tell me  _ which one _ when we get there. I presume you have more than  _ just the one. _ ”

When they got to his rooms, much to her surprise, they were able to enter through his wards with no password. That wasn’t usually how that worked. Had he granted her access through his wards? Had he been expecting her to come around again after that first time?  _ Huh. _

She laid him on the bed after pulling back the covers, figuring she should find this potion before getting him more settled. 

“Severus,” She prodded. No response. “Hey, hot lips. I need you to tell me which potion now.” Although he was clearly in considerable pain, she saw the corner of his lip curl up and he made another rasping sound. 

“Blue. Bedside. Can’t miss.” 

She scrabbled to the bedside table, jerking open the drawer and sure enough, in a faded velvet holder there was a row of little bottles full of electric blue contents. Grabbing one she rushed back and grabbed his shoulder. 

“This the one? The whole thing?” Opening one eye, which was good because the other one was swollen shut he looked over the object in her hand and nodded. Popping the cap she lifted his head and helped pour the contents down his throat. “Do you need any others?” She asked. “Blood replenishing, pain killer?” His one eye opened again and he gave her an exasperated look, but managed to grunt in the negative. The tremor seized him again, but this time it seemed less violent, for which she was glad. Maybe the blue bottle was fast acting. “Ok. That’s done. Next on the list.” She looked at him again but his eyes stayed closed as he seemed to be fighting the internal battle against the aftershocks of the tremors. She muttered a quick divesto, which left him only in his boxers, but before he could notice or object she had pulled the covers back over him and was tucking him in. She could have sworn he growled, but at this point she didn’t really care. She went to stoke the fire and returned, transfiguring a chair next to the bed to sit and keep an eye on him. 

At some point he opened his good eye again, saw her sitting there, glared at her and muttered something. His voice was so hoarse at this point though, she really couldn’t discern what he’d said and so she chose to ignore him. 

“Get out.” He croaked, this time louder. 

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought he rolled his good eye. “And what the fuck happened?” He didn’t respond. “Hey, do you need to let “M” know that you’re back, 007?” He gave her a sideways glance. “Is your cover intact?” At that he looked exhausted, but he nodded once. “Alright, don’t kill me for this.” She left the room for a moment, collecting a small parchment and quill from the desk and did a quick incantation over the quill. She then scratched out, in what appeared to be Snape’s exact handwriting, the words, “Recovering. Report tomorrow. Status unchanged.” She held it up in front of his eye for him to see and asked, “Good enough?” She couldn’t catch the look in his eye, but he nodded before succumbing to a coughing fit. She raised an eyebrow at him but the coughing fit continued. She went over to the fireplace, tossed a handful of floo powder in before sending the rolled paper hurtling into Dumbledore's office. She figured that was probably very Snape-like anyway. 

Severus was fighting another tremor, and this one left him trembling and his teeth chattering. She put a hand on his forehead. 

“Fuck, you’re freezing.” She’d already stoked the bedroom fire and the room felt comfortable to her, but it clearly wasn’t enough. “Accio socks,” she muttered and one of the top dresser drawers rattled. She quickly went and retrieved two pairs of thick socks. Lifting the bottom of the blankets she carefully pulled socks onto both of his long and very pale feet. She then took the other pair and pulled them over her own icy toes. Before dashing out in the snow she’d managed to put on her sheepskin boots, but no socks, and the boots were now thoroughly soaked through. 

_ Ok. Now what?  _ She made up her mind before she could second guess herself and before he opened his eyes again. The bottoms of her flannel pants were also wet from the snow, so she pulled them off. She peeled out of her fleece, but left the fitted thermal top on as she went around to the other side and climbed into bed with Severus Snape. 

He groaned when her hands touched his torso and her arm and leg draped over him, pulling him close. This was the mirror of how they’d woken that first time in his bed, this time with him on his back and her arm slung over his chest. She used a quick warming spell on him and tried to very  _ nonsexually _ rub her hand over his chest and arms in a way that would help warm him up as quickly as possible. She could feel that he’d tensed at her first touch, but then seemed to let out a deep breath as his body loosened beside her. He seemed too exhausted to fight her. The fire was the only light now, and she watched his features as the pain and cold receded before his face finally slacked into what she hoped was sleep. She stayed awake keeping watch well into the early morning hours. 

She must have finally dozed off, because she woke sometime later, the room still in darkness. For a moment she wasn’t sure what had woken her, but then she heard it again. The cries he made were muffled, but they sounded anguished. His body was jerking and making stilted movements, like subdued thrashing in his sleep. Somehow in the time she’d been asleep he’d extracted himself from her and their bodies were no longer touching. She wasn’t sure what to do, but she tentatively reached a hand over and touched his shoulder. 

He cried out again, notes of terror in his voice, and she sharply withdrew her hand. “Severus,” she tried again, shaking his shoulder more firmly. “Wake up!” 

“No! Don’t- please…” his pleading sounded child-like, and to hear him like this was making  _ her _ afraid. 

“Severus -it’s a nightmare! Please wake up,” she shook him harder but it didn’t seem to reach him wherever he was. Deciding on a different tactic, she moved close to him, and wrapped her arms and legs around him, squeezing him tenderly and trying to subdue his struggling. She was rubbing her hand back and forth over his chest soothingly and murmuring incoherent words of comfort. He finally seemed to calm, and his breathing began to return to normal. Just as she began to let out a relieved breath, he suddenly jerked and she realized that he’d finally fully woken up. 

“Get away from me,” he whispered hoarsely. She stiffened at his tone and slowly began to withdraw her limbs. He twisted himself away and sat up, perched on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. 

“I’m sorry. I tried waking you up, but I couldn’t.” She said it quietly, as calmly as she could. He shot her a look that was pure murder, and she flinched. 

“Leave!” he rasped again. 

“Fine,” she said in a cool voice. “I’m glad you’re recovered.” She could have sworn she saw him flinch at that. “I have to tell you though, that I’m getting very tired of this hot and cold routine.” 

“I just want to be left alone!” he snarled, his face still hidden from her behind a curtain of hair. “You should just go get your kicks elsewhere!” 

“ _ My _ kicks?” she demanded incredulously. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You’re the one who started this whole thing!” Her voice had gone up a notch and the anger was making her ears start to ring. “What the hell were you hoping would happen? Huh? I truly would love to know!” 

“Just leave me alone- I didn’t mean to!” he shouted back. “It never should have happened- it was weakness!  _ I was weak- _ and it’s wrong!” 

“It’s not wrong,” she snapped back. “Get over yourself. I’m 19 and fighting a war. What- it’s ok for me to die for the cause, but not get laid by who I want to?” 

He jerked his head and the look that flashed across his face was both confusion and longing. It was gone so fast that Hermione wasn’t sure that she’d even seen it. He turned away from her again. 

“Please go.” He sounded exhausted, but even more so, he sounded defeated. She didn’t know what to do. 

“Alright. I’ll leave,” she responded gently. “But let me know…” She wasn’t sure how to end that sentence. He was unlikely to suddenly be willing to pour out his feelings to her. She didn’t think he would consider her a friend, even if she was offering. She wasn’t sure how to get the answers she was hoping for. She wasn’t sure what to think of what had been happening between them, or the genuine concern she was beginning to feel for him and everything he went through on their behalf. Shaking her head to herself she gathered her belongings, disillusioned herself, and shut the door quietly behind her. 


	8. Chapter 8

  
  


Time was flying by. Easter was early that year, so the break was just around the corner. She’d watched Severus come and go several times for a summons, but each time his name made its way steadily back to his chamber. She’d only watched to make sure he made it back safely. She tried not to dwell on what he might be thinking or what might be going through or how she might be feeling about it all. She forced herself to fold up the map and go to bed when he made it back to his rooms, instead of watching his name sit by the fire for hours on end, or on occasion pace restlessly back and forth across his floors. 

When the break finally came, they were all summoned to Grimmauld Place for another Order meeting. Everyone seemed to be buzzing with anticipation, so Hermione assumed that something big was going to be revealed at the meeting. Dumbledore called them to order. While he loved his dotty grandfather persona, he usually toned it down for these meetings, bringing the appropriate gravitas to the planning sessions. 

“Hem, hem, hem,” he began and everyone present chuckled. It had been a running joke amongst the Order since Dolores Umbridge’s tenure at the school. He smiled and began going through a number of practical items of business, turning to individuals to give reports or updates on the status of projects. Snape slipped in shortly after, and Hermione tried to watch him from beneath lowered lashes. She thought she saw him glance at her covertly, but he was so good at this stuff, she wasn’t sure whether she’d imagined it. 

The meeting dragged on. Finally Dumbledore brought them to the point they were all wondering about. “So, I am sure some of you have been wondering what this new piece of information is that we have acquired. I’ll tell you what I can, although there is still quite a lot that we don’t know.” Here he paused, as if to ensure that everyone’s attention was on him. “Tom has been working on what he hopes will be the key to breaking through Hogwarts’ defenses. As you all know, this year we reinforced the entire wards pattern, adding a number of new ones that have made Hogwarts virtually impenetrable. In response, Tom and his followers have been engaging in a particular ritual, tapping into some extremely unstable dark magics in an effort to repair an ancient device. He is hoping to use this device to shatter the wards, target the Order and capture the school by surprise. Since frontal assault is never Riddle’s primary mode, I am guessing that this will be partnered with some very ugly tricks in other arenas, all set to capitulate around the same time.” He paused again as everyone absorbed the information. Hermione glanced at Severus, but his eyes were studying his boots, his face looking distinctly bored. 

Her mind turned over this new intel. Perhaps some new piece of the puzzle had come to light making it share-worthy, because she was certain that Severus would have informed Dumbledore about the ritual and device ages ago. She mused over what she’d seen in him those late nights. _Unstable dark magics…_ Was that what brought about Mr. Hyde? But he didn’t seem evil per se. Just… different. _Unleashed,_ the thought came unbidden, and she quick snatched back the smile before it registered on her face. 

After lengthy discussion and various questions and proposals on how to proceed, the meeting dispersed, members each making their way to their own lodgings. Everyone else seemed eager to get home, which was fine by the younger ones, as Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione were planning on spending the night to finally have some time on their own for a change. Ginny and Harry were certainly looking forward to it. They would all head to the burrow in the morning. 

When they crashed there, Sirius sometimes stayed up with them too, obviously elated by the rare company. Hermione often wondered if he would be better served by spending more time with people his own age, as there were times when he seemed to forget that he wasn’t 18 anymore and it was not his friend James sitting beside him. Not that she didn’t understand. His intervening years had been lost to Azkaban. And he’d been robbed of so much. It was hardly surprising that he was stuck in a different era. Not necessarily healthy, but still, she could understand. 

They laughed late into the night, drinking elf-wine, teasing one another and reminiscing about escapades - both theirs and the Marauders. Hermione wished that there was a way to hold onto this night. That somehow they could stop and just keep pretending that they were normal. No war hanging over their heads, no prophecies or epic burdens to shoulder. 

Hermione had a nice buzz by the time Ginny and Harry decided they were ready for bed. Without everyone else staying at the house there were bedrooms to spare, and she was looking forward to having her own space. She bid Ron and Sirius goodnight and made her way to bed. It was probably only midnight, but she and the others were pretty exhausted. She was fairly certain Dumbledore had commandeered the library for additional briefings from a few people, but they could stay up as late as they wanted. She, on the other hand, was ready to curl up in the thick blankets and tune out the world. 

She’d started getting ready for bed when she realized that she’d left the book she’d been reading earlier down in the kitchen. She made her way stealthily down the stairs- easier to avoid a screaming Mrs. Black than have to threaten her. Grabbing a glass, she went to the tap to fill it, casting around for her book at the same time. 

“Looking for something?” The voice startled her, and at first she thought it was Severus, before the voice registered. 

“Sheesh- you startled me, Sirius. Yes, I left my book down here somewhere. Just came back to retrieve it.” Her voice faltered on the last word, as she glanced up to see the way he was looking at her. “I’ll just be going.” 

“Hermione,” he said, his voice low. “You’re really beautiful, you know.” Her stomach dropped. This was _not_ what she wanted to hear from him. While he was naturally good looking and had a cavalier charm, he was in no way the kind of man she’d be interested in. She might have said he was too old, but that obviously wasn’t true, as she thought of Severus. She really wasn’t sure she had a type, but she knew _he wasn’t it._ He was too… _“one of the cool kids,”_ she thought. That had always been a turnoff for her. Having been on the unlucky end of that serrated edge that was popularity, those old scars made her wary of anyone who wore “cool” too well. 

As she looked him over, she could see that his eyelids were a little heavier than usual, his eyes less focused, and she realized that he must have been downing his firewhiskeys faster than they’d been imbibing their wine. _Oh dear._ “Sirius-” she started. As he took a step towards her she tried to sidle around him. “I really think-” _Fuck._

He reached out and blocked the door with his bulk before she could move past. This close she could smell the alcohol, and feel the pent-up sexual frustration rolling off of him in waves. 

“Don’t you get lonely?” he purred. “Don’t you just want to forget about it all for a night? Turn off that brain of yours and escape? Just _feel_ for a while?” At the word “feel,” he ran two fingers down her arm in a gentle caress. Ironically, she absolutely _could_ relate to what he was saying, he just wasn’t the one she wanted to escape into. 

She could see how he must have been quite the ladies’ man at school. He certainly seemed suave. But _definitely_ not her thing. “Sirius,” she used her best bossy voice. “Go to bed. I’m tired and I don’t think you’re thinking clearly.” Instead of heeding her, he leaned in closer. 

It was at that moment that Severus stepped from the hallway into the kitchen, directly behind where Sirius was blocking her. For a moment a look of devastating rage flashed over his features, but it was gone in a second. 

“Don’t you two look… intimate,” he drawled, words dripping with loathing. “I hope I’m not interrupting.” 

Hermione flushed with embarrassment at whatever assumptions he was probably making, but forced herself to look him straight in the eye. His eyes were like a solid wall, smooth and unreadable. 

Before Sirius could spit some barbed reply, she cut in, “Nope.” Her voice was defiant. “I was just leaving.” Turning to Sirius she said sharply, “Sober up Sirius. And I’m not interested.” It was a bit harsh, she reflected, to say to a guy who never got to go out and had no one remotely accessible to him; but his advances had been totally uninvited, unwanted, and added another layer of friction to whatever it was that she had going on with Severus and his alter egos. And not the good kind. Things were fraught enough. Without a backwards glance she made her way back upstairs. 

When the Easter break was over, Hermione was more anxious than usual. She hadn’t seen Snape since that night in the kitchen, and she was conflicted about how to handle seeing him once again in Potions. Not like he’d do anything other than ignore her, but she really hoped he’d understood that Black’s behavior had _in no way_ been invited. It made her a little queasy to think about, given their history. She’d probed Harry a little further during the break for what he knew about when Snape and Black were at school together. It wasn’t reassuring. 

So it was a damp Monday morning that she and the other students made their way down into the chilly Potions classroom. Snape didn’t look at her a single time through the duration of the class. He was lecturing, so there was no brewing or activity to distract herself. His eyes settled over the whole classroom, but seemed to skim over and above where she was seated. _Prick,_ she thought bitterly. It felt much worse than his previous acerbity or disdain. Like she simply didn’t exist. The class came to a close and she shuffled out with everyone else, heading to lunch and then herbology. 

She didn’t particularly love herbology, except that it had a direct correlation to Potions. Understanding the plant formed the basis for understanding the reactions that would take place when brewing. As it was their final year, each student was expected to be working on an independent project by caring for plants in need of advanced cultivation. At first she had been interested in grafting, but ended up going with a project to create a hardier version of the Moly plant. Since Moly was used to counteract dark magic and enchantments, she figured this would be a worthwhile investment. Being so rare, helping the plant grow hardier for increased harvesting could only help. With the recent update from the Order, she renewed her efforts in this project with enthusiasm. Her latest sprout looked healthier than the previous two specimens she had been working on. She lost herself in the work, the activity of her hands soothing her busy mind. Before she knew it, she was alone in the greenhouse, Pomona having gotten her half-hearted agreement that she’d wrap up soon and make it to dinner. 

While the frozen ground outside still sported patches of dirty snow, the afternoon sun blazed through the glass and the air in the greenhouse misted around her, humid and fragrant. Hermione was relieved to finally have some time to herself and shrugged off her sweater now that class was over. She was sweating in the rainforest-like climate and her hair felt like a sticky cloud. She pulled off her tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of the starched white blouse. She kept working for the next hour, taking notes and checking her multiple specimens, cross referencing changes with some of the related library books she’d checked out. The light was finally starting to fade when she heard a noise that made her jump.

Whirling around, she was startled to be staring into the face of an equally shocked Professor Snape. “Severus!” she exclaimed before her mind could catch up to her mouth. “Shit! I mean-” she stopped. She didn’t really know what she should say. 

He raised an eyebrow at her, mockingly inviting her to continue digging her hole. She smothered a grin, glad he was mocking her rather than ignoring her existence. Just as she was about to shoot back a retort, he stepped closer to peer at the Moly shoots she had grown and her heart faltered and tripped a beat. _He was standing too close._ He was looking at her plants, and he wasn’t touching her, but she had never been so physically aware of another body and its proximity to hers. The sound of rushing blood filled her ears, and she was suddenly struggling to take a breath. His scent filled her nostrils, and she could smell the herbs and rainstorm most acutely in the humid air of the greenhouse. 

He leaned in and spoke softly, “So saying, Hermes gave me the herb, drawing it from the ground, and showed me its nature. At the root it was black, but its flower was like milk. Moly the gods call it, and it is hard for mortal men to dig; but with the gods all things are possible.” 

Hermione held her breath, certain he could hear her pounding heart. He could quote _The Odyssey?_ She watched him and he finally turned his head, letting their eyes meet at last. They were the usual black, not dancing with otherworldly fire today, but there were still flames there. Something blazed in their depths, greedy and wild and hot and she felt something within her leap in response, heat shooting straight to her core. 

And then he blinked, and it was gone. He straightened quickly, turning to go, but her hand shot out to grab his arm. “Wait!” she blurted, her hand wrapping around his lean-muscled bicep. Before she could stop herself, words came tumbling out. “Don’t go- I don’t understand. I’m having trouble making sense of any of this. Please.” She’d managed to end the sentence in a neutral voice, which is why she was completely unprepared for the venom he spat at her next. 

“Don’t touch me!” This time his eyes were blazing with fury. “If you want someone to paw, I’m sure Black would be willing to oblige. I’ve already told you the depths of my desire- which is to be _left alone._ ” He enunciated the last two words with sub-zero bite. She pulled her hand back, stung both by his words and by the whiplash resulting from him going from softly quoting classical literature to this towering acid wrath. 

“Alright, Janus!” she flung back at him. “How can you be so two-faced? One minute you're bending me over a couch, and the next you can’t stand the sight of me -or worse, ignore me completely! I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. _I just want to understand._ ” 

“I have wanted a great many things in this world, but life rarely affords them,” he retorted harshly. 

“Stop it! Stop being like this to me! You have no right!” They were almost nose to nose now, shouting in each other’s faces. He’d always been able to push her buttons, but now she was so angry she was practically hissing like a cat. 

He opened his mouth to riposte, but he froze before any further words formed. He seemed to take a breath, as if pausing before another verbal onslaught. Then, in a blink his mouth crashed over hers, his lips fervently searching, urgent and bruising in their intensity. Hermione was too stunned at first to respond. But as his tongue slid between her lips, pushing them apart, her knees went weak and she started moving her lips and tongue in response, stepping forward and pushing herself against his body. The breathless noise she made against his mouth made him shudder, and with that, he tore himself away and practically sprinted out of the greenhouse. 

  
She stood in the quiet stillness of the greenhouse tracing her fingers over her lips. She packed up her stuff and thought about what had just happened. _The plot thickens,_ she mused. She had been sure that it was only Mr. Hyde/Dark Snape that was attracted to her; she had been certain that his other half pretty much hated her. But what just happened indicated something very different. Did Snape want her too? Both sides of him? She turned this new mystery over as she slowly made her way back up to the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Homer’s Odyssey - Hermes gives Odysseus the Moly plant to protect him from Circe’s poison/enchantments.


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the week passed uneventfully and she only glimpsed Snape at meals in the Great Hall. He never so much as glanced in her direction, but at this point she was entirely unsurprised. She spent Friday evening in the library finishing some research for classes as well as inquiring of Madam Pince about books on the effects of various types of dark magic. Unfortunately, there was not much available on the topic, not without Dumbledore’s authorization. She’d see if she could talk him into letting her have access later. Perhaps it would be helpful for what they were working on with the Order. Sometimes though, she could just tell that he didn’t think it was  _ necessary _ for her to know certain things, and it made it that much harder to get her hands certain information. She sighed. It was nine o’clock and the library was closing, but she didn’t really want to head to the common room or bed yet. She let her feet lead her aimlessly around the castle, turning over the puzzles that had been clacking around in her head all week. 

The ancient stone halls were dim as she made her way to one of her favorite thinking spots. She rarely worried about curfew anymore, it wasn’t like any of the professors treated her, Harry or Ron like children anymore. They understood that they were in a different category than the other students. One couldn’t ask the three to take up a central role in the fight against evil, and still treat them like children. Besides, since the wards had been reinforced, she knew she was pretty safe wandering alone. As long as she didn’t leave the grounds, she was as protected as she was going to be. 

She found her favorite secluded staircase. It was a relatively small one. Solid, and obscure, not like the grand looking moving staircases in the entrance hall. This was a practical back-stairway with a worn runner covering the steps and a large window on the landing looking out over the lake. She sat down on the steps and looked out over the landscape below. Spring was yet to make an appearance, and winter still held the grounds in its thrall. This was one of the quiet corners of her world where she could try to make sense of things. She pulled out her notebook, which was by far her most treasured possession. She had various sections for her different classes and projects, but she also used it for ideas, personal reflections, brainstorming and to do lists. It made her mind feel less cluttered when she was able to siphon some of her thoughts onto paper. 

Since it was spelled to be visible only to her, she opened to her “Curious case of Snape” page and doodled along the various observations and theories. She was feeling a bit melancholy tonight and more than a little confused. She hadn’t even checked the Maurauder’s map, though it was Friday. She wanted to, but thought perhaps she needed a little distance instead. 

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was late when she finally decided it was time to head back to the dorms. A bright quarter moon was bathing the grounds in delicate white light. Her eyelids were finally starting to droop, so she put away her journal and began slowly kneading and stretching her stiff muscles as they’d practically frozen in place on the hard stone steps. 

“You look cold, sweet thing. Need something to warm you up?” His voice was smooth like warm molasses,  slow and heavy and sweet; she swallowed when she heard it, her mouth suddenly dry. She tried to keep herself in check, but his voice did funny things to her when he was this way. She could feel her knickers dampen, and wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed or impressed. 

“Hmmm. I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be outside of the dungeons when you’re ‘under the influence,’” she shot back tartly. 

“That’s true,” he replied quickly with a quick but suggestive flick of his eyebrows. His small smile was amused and wicked at the same time. “...But I slipped my leash…” Those last few words said slowly and with all kinds of implications made her shiver. The thought of a dangerous creature now unfettered and on the prowl seemed apt. And terrifying. 

His smile grew feral and his eyes pinned her where she stood. There was an intensity there that made her breath come faster, the violet lightning flickering in the background. His gaze finally relinquished hers as he lowered his eyes to drag over her form. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up under his heated examination. 

“Your hot and cold routine is giving me whiplash. Miss Marple isn’t sure that it’s really her cup of tea.” His predatory smile subsided into a smirk. He slowly advanced up a few stairs so that as she remained on the landing they now stood eye to eye. 

“Have you been secretly dreaming of some sweet prince charming to sweep you off your feet,” he scoffed. “Someone  _ uncomplicated _ ?” The way he said ‘uncomplicated’ made it abundantly clear what he thought of that characteristic. “Are you hoping your noble and saccharine hero will come rescue you with a chaste kiss? Are  _ simple _ and  _ straightforward _ what you long for, my sweet thing?” His voice was low, murmuring these words, which trickled over her skin like a spell. She could feel them tingling through her body as if searching and sussing out her deepest desires. Her eyes fluttered closed as the tendrils of warmth in her blood multiplied, descending to her stomach and pooling between her thighs. She could feel his breath ghost her lips and hers parted slightly, as if to get a better taste of him, even if it was just in the air. 

“What is it you  _ dream _ about?” The way his mouth  toyed with the word ‘dream’ made it one of the dirtiest words she’d ever heard. She bit her lip and sucked in her breath. His mouth was now very close to her ear, and it reminded her of that first time she met  _ this  _ man down in the dungeons. The man that was most definitely  _ not _ her professor. She groaned and heard his responding chuckle. 

She wasn’t able to think clearly, but thoughts kept darting around like minnows, even as her body seemed to be surrendering to him. She knew she didn’t really want  _ simple _ .  _ Ron was simple. _ He was sweet and uncomplicated and straight to the point.  _ What you see is what you get,  _ she thought. And while she wasn’t sure that  _ the Minataur’s Labyrinth _ was the obvious door number two…, there was something about Snape- both aspects of him -that captivated her and kept her wanting more. This man  _ was _ complicated. He was smart. And he was clever.  _ And funny!? _ And insanely brave. Or possibly suicidal. And she had never felt this turned on with anyone else in her life. 

Hermione’s eyes were still closed, but she felt when he first touched her. It was his fingers on her mid thigh, right below her hemline; they started to trail up the thin material of her tights and  slowly tracing higher as he ascended up beneath the folds of her pleated skirt. His fingers stopped when they traced the protrusion of her hip bone, and his thumb made a small circle there, which made her inhale sharply. His mouth drew closer to her ear, his breath tickling there before  drawing her lobe into the scorching heat of his mouth and sucking gently. She shuddered violently. She could still feel his fingers resting on her pelvis just under her skirt, and the sensation of his hand there was sending little jolts of electricity through her. His fingers lengthened, stretching and teasing over her abdomen at a leisurely pace, still sliding over the slick fabric of the tights. Involuntarily she moved to widen her stance, opening herself more to him, even as internally she warred with herself. The tips of his fingers grazed lower, and each time they brushed nearer to where she wanted him to touch her, she could feel herself throbbing and adding more dampness to her already slippery knickers. 

She stopped breathing entirely when he ran a single finger between the length of her legs before pulling it away again. She made a choked sound and she could feel his lips form a smile as his mouth moved leisurely down to her neck, nibbling and softly pulling the skin with his lips and gently scraping with his teeth as he travelled down to her shirt-collar. She finally decided it was her turn to engage, so she drew her arms up around his neck, pulling him closer and reaching with one hand to slide through his black hair, fisting a handful of it at the roots. He growled in response, lifting her gently at the waist as he stepped forward across the landing and pressed her body into the cold stone at her back. His fingers traced outward to grip her hip as he ground his erection into her with agonizing  slowness . She cried out as he rubbed against the aching nerves that he had just been teasing mercilessly a moment ago. She could feel the answering noise he made as it vibrated into the hollow of her neck. 

He was taking it at an aching pace, at least compared to the frenzied coupling of the two previous encounters, seeming to savor each taste of her skin, seducing her with the laziness of his touches. He pulled back from her forcing her to meet his eyes, watching her while she watched the crackling storm within his black depths. Unhurriedly closing the distance, his lips caught hers, and held them, both stilled by the sensation of mouth on mouth. Eventually his lips started to move, letting his kiss imitate his nuzzling ministrations on her neck, languid and soft, running his tongue over top and then bottom lip, slipping between them exploringly. She opened to him and gently pulled on his bottom lip in response. Their kiss deepened, but he did not increase the pace. His hand resumed its teasing beneath her skirt and he grazed over the nerves at the apex of her thighs and then brushed across the opening between them. Her breath stuttered and her center throbbed. In agonizingly slow exploration, his fingers dipped beneath the top of her tights, making her tremble with goosebumps as fingers found flesh there. He tugged the top of her tights down until his other hand joined to help pull them down, just to the tops of her thighs. Just enough room for him to slide his finger against the slipperiness of her cotton knickers where they’d soaked through. He stilled when he felt it, their kiss frozen between them. He grinned against her mouth, slow and self-satisfied. 

“Sometimes,” he whispered to her lips, his finger starting to move again, tracing circles along the thin wet fabric. “Sometimes when I see you and it catches me off guard… I can still  _ taste _ you on my tongue…” The way his mouth rolled around the word ‘taste’ she could feel the ghost of said tongue tracing over her center like that first night. She moaned and his tongue slipped out to tease along her lip, mimicking the memory. “Sometimes, when you’re near and I can smell your summer sweetness, I want to run my hands under your skirt, like this, until my fingers are buried in you…” He inhaled into her hair, drinking deeply of her scent. 

Her skin was starting to buzz, and she could feel her body’s arousal being stirred to frothing. His touches were  _ torment _ . She needed more. She reached her hand out, running it down his chest and then along the hard length of him straining in his pants. He growled in response. She smiled back against his lips. 

“Fair’s fair.” She whispered. His eyes met hers again and this time the storm was  _ raging _ . The look there was wild and ravenous. But he closed them as she continued to smooth up and down his length with her dexterous fingers, as if shutting his eyes would stop the wildness brewing behind them. 

“Wicked witch.” His voice was husky, less smooth than usual, but no less arousing. 

“I think I’m more of a good witch, like Glenda, or maybe even a cursed brat like Dorothy. Wouldn’t you agree? I rather think that  _ you _ have more in common with the wicked villain of the west.” 

“Perhaps. I  _ do _ want to do terrible things to you. And I would take your clothes, but decidedly more than just your shoes,” he smirked. She couldn’t help the breathless sound that escaped her lips at his words. 

_ Oh gods, the indecent things she  _ wanted  _ him to do to her. _ By now her knickers were absolutely sopping. His finger was still teasing through the wetness, and she kept pushing herself into him, requesting more. 

“For tonight,” he paused and her stomach fluttered as thought after wicked thought flashed in his eyes; she wondered what it would be tonight. “Tonight, I want to feel you come in my hand, Hermione.” Her body arched into him at the words, already close with all of his teasing. And the way he’d said her name practically finished the job. She didn’t think that wasn’t  _ nearly _ enough to sate her hunger for him, but she’d take what she could get. 

His hand moved beneath her knickers and she practically sobbed with relief at the feel of him finally touching her, fingers sliding through her folds and circling over her bundle of nerves.  _ Oh gods she was so wet and he felt so good.  _ She was close. When he began slowly plunging his fingers inside her, she threw back her head, mouth open in ecstasy, a silent scream on her lips as he brought her over her limit. She clamped down on his fingers within as her climax crashed over her.  _ Holy fucking Merlin Christ. _

He was murmuring in her ear, deep and soothing, but she found that  _ she’d  _ “lost time” and the rushing sound in her head was too loud to make sense of what he was saying. His fingers remained where they were, still pushing gently now and then as she slowly descended from the heights. Her knees felt wobbly, and she leaned into him for support. His other hand was pulling her against him, rubbing broad flat circles on her lower back. 

When her brain cells finally started firing again, she managed to look up at him and deadpan the question he’d once tossed at her,  “Is this how you intend to remain for the rest of the morning hours?” His unexpected burst of soft laughter surprised even him. 

“Yes.” He deadpanned back, “In fact, I intend to remain with my fingers snugly lodged inside you for the remainder of the year.” 

“Well that’ll make spying awkward.” 

“You have no idea.” He smirked, amusement sparking in his eyes. Hermione couldn’t help but snigger at the thought of Severus bowing low before Lord Voldemort, his fingers still tightly ensconced in her twat. 

“Hey,” she couldn’t help the questions that were now bubbling again.  _ She could never help it. _ And he was here and seemed responsive, so… “The other you kissed me.” She stated bluntly, part question, part accusation. 

“Mmmmmmh,” he said noncommittally. “So he did.” He began nibbling on her ear and neck again, distracting her and derailing her train of thought. 

“But why?” she couldn’t help the incredulity that colored her voice, “He  _ hates _ me.” He only looked back at her, his eyes flickering, but unreadable. Shrugging, he pulled away, slowly withdrawing his hand from between her legs. She moaned at the pleasurable sensation and at the loss. He sucked on the tip of his finger, tasting her once again and inhaling deeply the scent of her on his hand. She watched his sensual movements and wondered how she’d gotten in so deep. 

He didn’t answer her, just stepped away, giving her one last inscrutable look before moving down the hallway and melting into the shadows. 

“Well fuck me,” she breathed. She swore she could hear a throaty chuckle echoing from down the hallway and then the whisper of words floated back to her. 

“Next time, sweet thing. Next time.” 


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione lay on her bed the next morning with curtains drawn. She could hear others getting ready for breakfast, but she just needed a little time to be alone with her thoughts. She could forego breakfast in the Great Hall this morning; it was Saturday after all. Her musings turned to last night’s events. …  _ He’d sought her out _ .  _ Again.  _ She felt more confused than ever. His alter ego’s behavior in the greenhouse had her mind in tangles, wondering about it from every conceivable angle. Daytime Professor Snape’s actions clearly hadn’t changed Dark Snape’s modus operandi. But did Dark Snape’s actions impact the Professor? And while Dark Snape seemed the same, she pointed out to herself, this time  _ had _ been somewhat different. He’d gone slow. He’d taken his time in rousing her body, and she had been  _ aching _ for him by the end of it. That was new. In the past it had been a firestorm that had swept over the both of them. He’d always initiated, with his saturating sex appeal, but before it had been more like a hurricane, and she felt like she’d just had to hold on for dear life. 

Her hands wandered south as she reminisced, the feel of his fingers still a ghostly presence between her legs. She shivered at the memory and her fingers gently traced over her knickers, leaving a pleasurable tickling sensation in their wake. And his questions about her desires? Did she want simple, uncomplicated? Was her interest in Snape a terrible idea? She felt like she’d caught a few glimpses into the real man behind the various masks, but what did she really know? What kind of man was he, voracious attraction aside. And how the fuck  _ was _ he so sexy, when she’d spent years around the man and would never in a million years would have suspected him of having such depths of sensuality. How had he hidden it so well? Of course, she mused, he wouldn’t be a very good spy if he couldn’t hide parts of himself, but  _ truly _ he was a master. Did that mean she would never truly know him? Would there always be a hidden side, parts she wouldn’t know; would she always wonder what was real? What was an act?  _ Complicated indeed _ , she snorted. The man was a fucking Conway knot. 

She sighed, closing her eyes as her fingers still trailed over her body, her lower abdomen clenching with the memory of his body over hers, his body buried deep inside her. Would she let that happen again? Should she? And, what did dark magic have to do with it all? Too many questions. And unlike most challenges in her life, there were no libraries to go to for researching this problem. No Snape reference section. 

She let her thoughts and questions float away as she sunk deeper into her body, letting the sensation of stimulated nerves flood her, giving herself over to the hunger inside and the feeling of fingers on flesh. The oh-so-good tingling sensation expanded in her body like a rising crescendo until she stiffened and her mouth rounded in a silent ‘oh,’ leaving her panting and trembling in its wake. She inhaled deeply, shuddering with the feel of him still touching her in her mind. 

Hours later, when she finally made it down to the Great Hall for lunch, her body was still flushed and her skin felt hotter than normal. She covertly glanced up at the high table and her stomach flipped.  _ Great, _ she thought.  _ It was going to be one of those days. The kind where your body tingles constantly and your imagination won’t stop running wild scenes of debauchery on a loop in your mind. Yep. Definitely one of those days.  _

Snape sat stiffly at his usual seat, a scowl on his face that seemed to deepen the longer her eyes stayed on him. She finally looked away, scooping some sustenance onto her plate and trying to reign in her body’s reactions.  _ Get a grip Hermione, _ she chastised herself.  _ It’s not like you  _ actually _ want him to throw you down on top of the Gryfindor table and have him fuck you sensless in front of the whole school…  _ She bit her lip and allowed herself a few minutes to play that out in her mind before taking a deep breath and trying to concentrate on what she had to do for the rest of the day. Some reading; defense and dueling practice this afternoon. More reading and research. She mentally made the list. 

The weekend went by quickly after Hermione was (eventually) able to mentally move herself to a place of productivity. Now it was Wednesday afternoon, and once again Hermione steeled herself for a double period of Advanced Potions. It wasn’t so much that it was painful anymore, not like it used to be, it was just that now she had things to hide, both from her professor and from her classmates. She now sought to use the time to practice outward impassivity, to don her poker face (spy mask), and diligently keep all emotion submerged. She figured she might as well combine her lessons, and work on these skills at the same time as absorbing potions instruction. 

For today’s class, the first hour was lecture, the second was for brewing a rather simple potion that wouldn’t take long to brew, however it was considered advanced because it could be extremely finicky about timing, stirs, and temperature. Hermione didn’t mind; after all it was the attention to detail and the meticulousness of brewing that contributed to the joy of potions. 

By the end of class, strands of Hermione’s hair had come out of their bindings and her face was flushed from standing over the steamy pot. She was feeling flustered, because at some point Lisa Turpin had tripped over a bookback, stumbled into Hermione, and caused her to lose count of where she was in the counterclockwise interval turns. The contents of the cauldron still looked to be the correct shade of lavender, but she thought it seemed more opaque than it was supposed to be and also seemed to be giving off a significant amount of thick white steam. To finish the stirs correctly, she was forced to stand over the pot as humid billows wafted into her face and hair. There were only a few minutes left of class, when Professor Snape, who had spent most of the class ignoring her as usual, drifted towards her and her cauldron. She gazed up at him and watched as he suddenly stilled, then slowly stepped back and turned back towards another workbench. She harrumphed to herself, finding it  _ impossible _ to remain impassive. 

“Class dismissed.” Snape’s smooth voice rang out, and was met with alarmed cries from those who ‘just needed those last few minutes.’ In a more irritated voice, Snape silkily continued, “I said, class dismissed. You should have had sufficient time. Leave a sample on my desk and vanish your potions… now. Last one to leave this room will serve a week’s detention.” 

Hermione felt panicked as she put some of the cauldron’s contents into a vial, and began cleaning up as quickly as possible. 

“Miss Granger,” Snape cut in sharply. “Remain after class and I’ll expect you for detention this evening as well.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but then clamped it closed. Arguments would do no good. What the fuck? What on earth could she have done? Or was this just a ploy of some kind? 

As she put away the last of the ingredients she felt slow, like she was moving underwater. Her limbs felt heavy and her head felt fuzzy, but the thoughts kept coming. Why did he always have to bully? Why did he have to be so… so… obfuscating. Yes, that was the word - obfuscating. That’s what he was! She remotely reflected that she was sounding strangely dramatic, but at the moment it seemed unimportant. 

She heard the door snick shut as the last of the students filed out, and before she realized what was happening Snape was before her. He’d vanished her cauldron and ingredients and with a single wave, sent the rest of the tools cleaned and back to their storage locations. His hand reached out and gripped her chin forcefully, roughly jerking her face upwards until her gaze met black eyes. 

“Fucking hell,” he cursed, releasing his grip angrily at the sight of her very dilated pupils. Hermione almost stumbled backwards, but that same hand then darted out and grabbed her bicep to hold her steady. 

“What are you… about?” Hermione was definitely feeling funny now, her tongue felt thick and her lips had trouble forming the words. Snape looked like he had a fuzzy halo around his head and she started to giggle.  _ Oh dear, what was happening to her? _

“Wormwood, Miss Granger.” Snape spat out the word. “Someone put wormwood in your brew, and now you have sufficiently inhaled enough, not only to give you powerful hallucinations, but quite probably enough to kill you. Did you see who did this? Nevermind- Come on.” He was already pulling her towards the back wall of the classroom, where a door was materializing in the stone. 

“Turpin fell… inta me...” The words still felt thick and were starting to sound funny, like when you say a certain word too many times and it stops sounding like a real word. Bowl. Bowl. booowwwwwwlll. Yes, just like that.  _ Was she speaking English? It didn’t sound like a real language anymore. Had she made up a language? Maybe she should do that someday, _ she thought.  _ Yes! I should make up my own language!  _

“Glooooba rrrrlll, min clim.” Snape looked at her sharply, even as he pulled her across the threshold of the door into his chambers. 

“Are you having trouble forming words, Miss Granger?” He sounded serious and calm, but still with an underlying layer of anger, and possibly concern? 

Hermione refocussed her eyes in the gloom as he cast wordless spells and light leapt into being. 

“Let there be light!” She cried, throwing her hands into the air exuberantly. Snape glared at her. “What- Oh, sorry, no, I was just working on a language I’m making. Writing. Speaking? Speawriting? Spraking? Hmmm.” Hermione looked at the ceiling in serious contemplation. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Snape’s barely reigned anger cut into her increasingly delirious musings. For Hermione, the room was starting to move like she was standing on the deck of a ship at sea, and the colors and shapes around the room were starting to take on a life of their own. 

“Look!” She squealed, pointing at the shelves of books. “They’re mating! And molting...” She gave him an arch wink and moved towards the bookshelves, hands outstretched. 

Snape’s hands darted out before she could reach them and turning her looked in her eyes and said sternly in a voice reserved for very young children and simpletons, “They don’t want to be disturbed right now. Surely you can see that?” Hermione peered around him to look skeptically at the rows of books, before nodding sagely at him. 

“I didn’t realize,” She whispered behind her hand, making an awkward face. Snape managed to pull her into the bedroom, at which point Hermione started giggling uncontrollably, pointing at the bed and stumbling towards it. She sat on the edge of the bed and squinted back at Snape. “I remember this bed! Hey- You’re glowing. Did you know? It’s kind of a green light. But not green, more of a _green_ _green_ , you know? Have we met before? I mean, I know you’re Professor Snape. _And_ I know you’re Mr. Hyde. But are _you_ someone new? Are you the Green Fairy too?” Hermione had a Lovegood-like smile on her face as she tried to study the man before her with unfocused eyes. 

Snape just rolled his, motioning for her to remain sitting as he turned and went to his medicine cabinet and began pulling out various potions, searching quickly through the rows and rows of vials. Behind him Hermione kicked off her shoes and sprawled out on the bed, stretching her limbs out across the expanse before writhing around on her back like a cat. 

Severus finally found the vial he was looking for and turned back to Hermione, only to pause in surprise at her decidedly odd behavior on the bed. His lips twitched but he moved swiftly over to the bedside table and laid out the four potions there. 

“Hermione, I need you to focus.” He reached for her wrist and pulled her towards him, trying to get her to sit up again. 

“I think you should tie me up here.” She grinned at him coyly pulling her hands out of reach and crossing her wrists above her head. Snape began muttering curses under his breath as he tried to pull her up into a sitting position again. “Well? Will you promise to tie me up?” 

“Yes, Miss Granger, I promise to tie you up…” he gritted out, muttering a few additional threatening promises as he tried again to get her to focus. “But first I need you to take these medicines. Alright? This is important. I need you to drink these first,” he repeated, pulling the cork out of the first one and pushing it to her mouth. 

“Ok,” she smiled. “Just for you hot lips.” He growled, but to his apparent relief she swallowed the contents of the first vial and he readied the second one. After she’d managed to down all four of the potions he put to her, he finally released his grip on her. She started squirming immediately and began struggling out of her jumper, getting it stuck around her head as she tried to pull it overhead. Severus made a bit of a choking sound as she thrashed around, arms and head trapped in her sweater. “I’m hot!” she retorted irritably to what she was quite certain was poorly suppressed amusement. “Help me take off my clothes! They’re itchy.” 

The choking sound changed instantly and Snape quickly retorted, “No, Miss Granger!” And then in a slightly more composed voice, “You should definitely keep your clothes _on._ The antidotes should begin working, but it will take some time to break down what is already in your system. It’s imperative you _do_ _not_ go to sleep, and you must stay as alert as possible.” However, he did lean in to help pull the sweater from her head, leaving her in her button down shirt and school skirt. Her face was sweaty and flushed, her pupils still outrageously dilated, her hair a wild cloud around her face. Regardless of his glare, she unbuttoned the top few buttons of her starched white shirt, desperate for some cool air on her skin. Her lids began drooping, and he gripped her wrists again, shaking her slightly. 

“Wake up, Miss Granger! I said, stay awake!” He used his stern teacher voice for the last line, and it had the intended effect. Her head jerked up and she shook herself slightly. 

“Sorry, sir,” she mumbled tiredly, “I’m just so tired…” 

Severus shook her again. “ _ Hermione _ \- I need you to talk to me. Keep talking- tell me what kind of research you’ve been working on, I assume you have several projects in progress.” 

She smiled up at him, managing to look both muddled and sly. “Hmmm…. I’ve got me a project… a  _ very good  _ project; but there’s no Severus Snape reference section, so it’s slow going. Nowhere near finished.” He snorted at this. Her expression then turned earnest and she said, “Seriously, sir, how in the fuck did you get so sexy?” Here her hand broke free from his grip and reached out towards his face or to touch his hair, but he ducked adroitly, pulling her wrists back into a held position on her lap. “I mean I’m not saying you’re not sexy now, because actually  _ I really think you are, _ but  _ the other you _ … how did you  _ hide _ it so well? How does one  _ mask _ a side of themselves that completely? I keep practicing - I want to learn to hide things that well, but I’m kind of crap at it so far,” She confessed. Here she leaned towards him and stage-whispered loudly, “I practice in Potions, but I still need to get better.” 

“You’re delirious Miss Granger,” He said dryly. But the expression on his face was somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. To her surprise though, he responded, “It’s not exactly a skill that is a Gryfindor forte. But, you don’t think you’d be able to hide a side of you so well?” 

“Wait-” Hermione interrupted, “You’re actually going to give me answers?” Here his eyes glinted with real amusement. 

“Yes. Although I will say that after all you’ve metabolized, you probably won’t remember a word of this conversation in the morning.” He threw her a self-satisfied smirk. “Once the high and hallucinations subside, the potions I gave you are going to make you violently ill and by morning this will be a fuzzy bad dream.” He paused, releasing her hands and settling into a conjured chair by the bed. “However, if you want to hear my answers, I think I will require a story from you first.” His eyes glittered as he looked at her, and while they didn’t sear with the blazing sexuality that they did when the purple lightning was present, she still felt something heat within her. She was sure he was trying to keep her talking and awake. Without breaking eye contact he drawled, “Tell me how  _ you _ first came to dabble in the sexual arts.” 

Hermione swallowed. He was asking about her entree into sex? Would it sound too juvenile or pedestrian? Did she  _ want _ to share that with him; though honestly she wondered, did she really have anything to hide? Well… as long as he revealed more about  _ his _ past… 

So she told him. She was still feeling decidedly fuzzy and the words tumbled out of her in a torrent. She seemed to have lost her filter somewhere along the way in the wormwood high. She had never told anyone about her time with Ethan. Truthfully, she’d spent a whole summer learning about sex. It was the summer holidays after fifth year. She’d been anxious and depressed and  _ very bored _ when she had run into an old childhood friend in her parent’s neighborhood. He was shy and clever, as inexperienced as she was, and it just sort of happened. At the time, she couldn't think of a reason to hold back. She’d been so numb after all that had happened that year. So, they’d awkwardly explored each other. They’d had sex for the first time. For all she’d heard about sex, it seemed rather… anticlimactic. Feeling like she must have missed something important in their fumblings, they’d done it again. And again. She decided they probably just needed practice. So, they’d done it some more. They’d tried different positions, learning and teaching what each liked and didn’t like, what worked and didn’t work, what would and wouldn’t bring her to orgasm, until she finally felt she had a good handle on the technical aspects of the art. 

She admitted to herself that it was  _ so like her _ to approach even sex like it was coursework. Regardless, she was grateful for the education, limited and inexperienced as it was. After all, it had prepared her well for this year.  _ An introductory course,  _ she smirked.  _ Or even a prerequisite. _ _ Meanwhile, _ s _ ex with Snape practically constituted a mastery.  _ He watched her as she recounted her tale with an unreadable expression, though his lips tipped up in one corner when she was done. 

Snape, of course, seemed to have picked up on her thought about her scholastic inclinations and he drawled, “So what grade do you think would have been appropriate for your efforts?” 

She just glared at him. “I’ve never received less than an Exceeds Expectations in anything I’ve done,” she answered snarkily. He didn’t seem to be able to help it and he grinned. 

“And no waiting for that perfect first time with a true love that would have been  _ so special _ ?” His tone was lightly mocking, but there was clearly an undercurrent of disdain beneath the words. 

She just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Prince charming must have been unavailable at the time. Ethan was a good guy.” Then she looked at him and deadpanned, “Have I given you the impression that I’m prone to mooning over boys and daydreaming of true love and a bed blanketed in rose petals?” 

Her dry words made him chuckle and he shrugged. “I understand it’s something many women dream of. But… truthfully, I can’t  _ really _ say I know much about you.” There was something about the way he said it that almost sounded regretful. It shifted when he smirked and shot back, “Though you’re right. You strike me as a very…  _ practical _ woman.” 

She tossed her hair and sniffed at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Ok, your turn now.” 

His eyes lingered on her like a physical touch until she felt like squirming, but she managed to remain still as the silence stretched on between them. 

He finally sighed and fixed his gaze on the chamber ceiling as he spoke. “I grew up in a suburb of Manchester. It was the 60’s and 70’s in a run down industrial town. The plant eventually closed. We all lived in government housing. The adults were either trying to make ends meet or sinking into addiction. Most did the latter. We ‘kids’ did what we wanted. And there wasn’t much  _ to do _ but drink, smoke, steal… and fuck.” Here his eyes met hers and she flushed at his blunt vulgarity, even as something in her gut flipped over in anticipation. “These all started young… I had my first smoke and drink when I was eleven. The very summer I got my letter to Hogwarts.” His eyes seemed faraway and Hermione sat quietly, just watching his face, not wanting to rouse him from his reverie. “I didn’t have friends from the wizarding world to hang out with when I went home for the summers, but I did have the gang of miscreants I’d grown up with.” Here he smiled wryly and she wasn’t sure if it was distaste or affection, or both, that tinged his words. “We were so far removed from middle class morality, but I didn’t realize  _ how _ different we were until Hogwarts, where it seemed that none of the other kids spent their summers breaking into abandoned warehouses, stealing and drinking booze, or exploring the bodies of the girls who passed themselves around willingly among us.” 

He met her gaze again and it was slightly hooded, lids half-lowered, and she could suddenly see the young man who had learned the art of seduction in those lazy summers, learned to play women’s bodies and arouse them with a look, a word, a touch. The intensity in his eyes felt like he was slowly undressing her, then pinning her there to the bed, running his fingertips lightly over her whole body, then again with his lips and tongue. Her heartbeat quickened and her breathing grew ragged and shallow. The nerves between her thighs began to throb. 

Then, just like that, he blinked and it was gone. He was once again a slightly bored looking man in his mid-thirties, not exactly handsome but not unattractive either; eyes that were intelligent, but indifferent. She blinked several times, wondering if she had imagined what she had seen there in him a moment before, even as her heart was still pounding. She knew she hadn’t. She had experienced it first hand after all.  _ That was her Dark Snape… _ But this time it was without the “influence” of whatever it was that had been bringing him out on those strange nights. No violet lightning. This time it was clear that it was simply a part of him that he could turn on or off at will. She wasn’t sure if this went towards solving the puzzle, or instead added a whole new layer. 

“I realized quickly that I could continue to play the bad boy here at school and reap the carnal rewards, but it would easily overshadow how I was perceived. My background would at the least be met with disapproval, and at most would bar certain doors, and I realized early on that I wanted a Mastery in Potions. I wanted people to take me seriously, I needed them to see my mind and work first. Had I not, I imagine I would have been easier to dismiss. So, I ‘put away’ that side of myself and focused instead of my academic persona.” 

“You remade yourself to be who they thought you should be?” Hermione couldn’t help the hint of incredulity that crept into her voice. Snape had never seemed the type to care what others might think. 

Snape shrugged nonchalantly. “Obviously not  _ all _ that they thought I should be… And are you saying you  _ wouldn't  _ do whatever was necessary to attain your goals?” 

“I’m not sure I’d hide my past or who I was,” she said, frowning. 

He gave her a dark smile. “Slytherins see it as just being  _ practical _ .” He enunciated the last word. 

She grimaced, but took his point. And he wasn’t wrong. She would never let anything stop her from achieving her dreams. Assuming she lived that long. She may have been brought up with the ‘middle class values’ and smoothed edges that he’d lacked, but in this world, her muggleborn status could easily have the same effect on her ambitions as his rough roots. And no, she’d never let that stop her. Classism and blood status.  _ Fuck it all,  _ she thought. 

She could feel her mind getting fuzzier, and although she was riveted by this conversation, she could see that he was probably going to be right about her lack of memory come morning. Damnit. She was also still feeling the lingering effects of his smouldering gaze on her, and her current altered state of mind seemed to have lowered her inhibitions, allowing the warmth in her blood to become especially distracting. Inappropriate questions kept popping up in her mind, and without any semblance of a filter, they began pouring out. 

“Do you like that part of yourself? Don’t you miss getting to be that unbelievably sexy man? Don’t you get tired of hiding it?” 

He seemed startled by her bluntness and prodding questions and she saw something flit across his features before they smoothed again. He cocked his head as he looked at her and that heat seemed to come back into them. “That would not be an appropriate demeanor for a teacher at a school,” he drawled with a smirk playing about his mouth. “Particularly with so many impressionable young women about.” His smirk turned into a leer and she snorted. 

“No, that’s true I guess. Parents would be calling for your job within the week if you acted like that.” She smirked at him. “Though the young women themselves might feel differently…” 

“Besides,” he mused more seriously, “the less that side comes out, the easier it is to keep it in check the rest of the time.” Hermione’s thoughts darted back to how Dark Snape’s actions seemed to be bleeding into the behavior of her daytime professor. 

“You realize that’s pretty much like repressing your sexuality, right? Aren’t you worried about ‘the shadow’ side effects?” Something inscrutable passed through his eyes, but he just gave her a small smile. She went on, “Aren’t you worried that the more you repress that side of yourself, the more power it will gain in your subconscious, eventually pushing you to act out in ways you can neither foresee nor control…?” She gave him a pointed look.  _ Is that what had gotten them into this mess in the first place?  _

“I am intimately acquainted with the writings of Carl Jung.” He commented in a bored tone, ignoring the implication she’d just raised. “Besides, there are appropriate places for me to ‘unleash…’” 

Hermione couldn’t help but feel a twinge in her gut and she was surprised when she realized it was something akin to jealousy. Did he go out trolling the bars, picking up and seducing women in his free time? Or worse, did he turn it on at the Death Eater revels? He  _ was _ always coming back from a summons when she’d encountered him in that state. 

Seeming to read her thoughts, he interjected quietly, “Not there.  _ Never _ there.” His eyes held truth in them and she nodded slowly. 

And then there was the million dollar question, hovering in the air between them, and she couldn't’ help but voice it. “Then why…? Why those nights?” she whispered. 

His eyes continued to bore into her. Neither moved for a long time, the heat growing between them, the delicious tension becoming a palpable force in the air as her curiosity and arousal swelled and solidified. Her mind gleefully supplied memory after memory of him in his altered state and the things they’d done. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and his eyes tracked it, seeming to grow a shade darker as he looked on. 

“I think that’s enough questions for tonight.” That private smile of his returned, and she cursed him for his sudden evasiveness. 

_ Fuck, _ she thought. Well, at least he’d opened up this far. Perhaps he’d tell her more another time?  _ Or, _ she mused, was this spy 101 and he’d given up just enough intel to get her hooked? She smiled inwardly.  _ Like she wasn't already hooked on this man. _ Standing up unsteadily, she began to walk around the room. She began to feel the nausea unsettling her stomach and she hoped the pacing would keep the feeling at bay. 

“You are about to be violently ill,” he explained in a detached voice. “But it should purge the remaining toxins; I expect it will be extremely unpleasant, but… you’ll live.” 

She could feel the first wave rising up and she staggered to his bathroom. The last thing she remembered was his hands gently pulling her hair away from her face as she vomited every last shred of the drug and potions out of her system. 


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to post. I got a little stuck on where I was going with this. Still not sure how to get it where I want to go, but... here's some smut for this chapter. And a few answers to last chapter's questions. :). Hugs for all your support. Thank you.**

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Hermione woke up in her own bed. It was still early, but thankfully she didn’t have class until the afternoon again. She was still dressed in her clothes from yesterday, her mouth felt dry and her body ached all over. It wasn’t until she’d showered, re-dressed and put on her robes that she discovered the vial in her pocket. It’s silvery contents swirled in the morning light. It was sloppily labeled, but definitely in her hand. It read, “yo memories be-atch.” She snorted. She must have been  _ a mess _ last night. She really couldn’t remember anything after starting to brew at the beginnings of Potions class. 

But, the scribbled writing at least gave her the most vital piece of information. It was  _ her _ memory therein, so she wouldn't be needing a pensieve; she could simply replace the missing memory in her own mind. She was a tiny bit hesitant, wondering how mortifying it would be, but willful ignorance was  _ never _ an option in her opinion. 

She watched the memory of the previous evening like a movie reel as it snicked back into place in her mind.  _ How had she had the wherewithal-  _ while high, no less- _ to sneak this memory into a vial while she was still able to recall all that had been said? _ It looked like she had done it while pacing the room before the nausea had hit full effect. Thankfully it cut off before that. Had she truly been stealthy enough to have done it without Snape’s notice, or had he  _ let _ her get away with it? But then again, she felt somewhat certain that he had only allowed her to learn so much of himself because he assumed she would not be in possession of the information after that night. 

She stared at herself in the dorm mirror. Maybe she was becoming more Slytherin after all… She smirked at her reflection, thinking Severus would perhaps be a bit proud, and she charmed her lacy undergarments a deep shade of green in celebration. They weren’t visible, but she enjoyed the secret knowledge and set off to start the new day.

Hermione found a note by her bedside from Madam Pomfrey, requesting a follow up before her DADA class, as well as a note from Dumbledore indicating an emergency Order meeting that evening as well. The day passed quickly. Madam Pomfrey declared her fit, and Hermione, Ron and Harry practiced defensive spells after class until it was time for dinner, and then time for the Order meeting. They made their way slowly up to the headmaster’s office. 

What they learned was unnerving:

Lisa Turpin had indeed been compromised. There was no magical signature on her, as there would have been with the imperius curse. Of course, the imperius curse would have been detected. With all the sneak-sensors and probity probes built into the defences of the castle now, not to mention the new wards, any kind of deception would have been detected. Polyjuice, transfigured faces, or invisibility cloaks, and even disillusionment charms - all could be detected upon entry to the grounds or castle and the headmaster and Order would be notified (these didn’t apply once one was inside the building). Anything bearing a magical signature would have been recorded and measured against the students, faculty, and known enemies. After all, the students and faculty had agreed to have their magical signature on record this year as a security measure in order to detect foreign influence. Whatever had affected her, it was something different. Something new, which made it extremely threatening. Snape hypothesized that it was a new potion, which emulated the imperius. He had heard talk about such a substance, but he himself had been “unsuccessful” and “doubtful” as to its brewing. And potions have no magical signature.

It was unclear when or where Turpin had encountered the perpetrator of her condition, but while Snape had been treating Hermione, he had also discretely communicated the situation to Dumbledore, who had immediately apprehended, interrogated, and modified Miss Turpin’s memory to hide Snape’s intervention. Even with all the security measures, even with the castle like a fortress, new treachery was bound to arise, although they had truly felt safe for a while. This novel potion seemed to be a threat that undercut the sense of security that they had been living with. Hermione wondered if she would still be allowed to freely roam the halls at night, and mourned yet another restriction on hers and all of their freedoms.

The Order would be monitoring Miss Turpin to see how and when the administrator of the potion would attempt to extract information or give her additional instructions. As far as Miss Turpin or the rest of the school knew, Miss Granger had later had a sudden bout of illness, had been rushed to the hospital wing where she had remained for the night, but with fortuitous treatment, had eventually recovered. Hermione wondered if that was all  _ she _ was supposed to remember as well… 

It was still unclear why Hermione had been targeted, aside from the obvious of being part of Harry’s inner circle, and often considered the brains of the trio. Was there more to it than that? Was this a one-time hopeful, or was someone going to keep coming after her until they finished the job? She thought she might have been more freaked out if Snape hadn’t been so calm as he took care of her. His demeanor had removed any doubt she might have had about her safety, and although she was sure he would not want to minimize the danger she’d been in, she couldn’t help but feel that as long as he’d been with her, she had been perfectly safe. She laughed at the thought - that the terrifying and frequently unpleasant man made her feel unbelievably  _ safe. _

She also wondered if he felt the same, or if he had simply masked any doubts well enough under his unruffled facade. She wondered if he had been afraid for her. She wondered if he was afraid for her still. 

Dumbledore was finishing up, when Sirius started in with sneer and a scathing tone, “And how do we know Snivellus there didn’t brew the potion himself for his Dark Lord? How do we know he isn’t the one who almost killed Hermione?” 

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. The way he said it made it sound like he was trying to defend her honor.  _ He sounded like a prat, _ she thought angrily. Severus maintained his mask of indifference, but his knuckles whitened. Of course, only Hermione was watching for a tell like that. Harry and Ron glanced suspiciously at their former professor, as did a few other Order members. Now Hermione was scowling, but before something biting could escape her mouth, Dumbledore cleared his throat. 

“That’s enough Sirius.” The old man’s gaze was penetrating, and Sirius seemed to flinch for a moment. “I have, and I will continue to trust Severus with my life. He is doing everything in his power to help us, and I will not have you undercutting the value of his efforts. I’ll say this once. Severus did not make this. And, no doubt, he will be helping us effectively counter it in the future.” 

Everyone kept silent. Hermione couldn’t stop squirming; her anger was such that she was having trouble keeping still. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Severus’ eyes slide to her. She thought she detected something of surprise in their slight widening, but his face immediately sank into a smirk. She figured that it was smirk inspired by her furious reaction, but he smugly directed it at Sirius and the boys. She wished he wouldn’t provoke them. And smirking only made him look guilty in their eyes. But, she supposed, he already knew that and clearly didn’t care. After all, they insulted him first. She sighed. 

They discussed why Hermione might be a target, but no one had any more ideas than when they started. Slowly things wound down, and with nods to Moody and repeated assurances by all that they would be  _ extra _ vigilant (constantly), the meeting dispersed. Snape disappeared before Hermione could even decide whether she would have liked to say anything further to him. Harry had that look on his face like he was ready to take the blame for endangering her life just by the virtue of being her friend and she had to refrain from rolling her eyes again. Did he really think that this was only about him? Like they all wouldn’t  _ still _ be fighting this war even if there was no Harry Potter? 

Her body was still exhausted from the previous night’s fight with a controlled substance, and she quickly made her excuses and went to bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

  
  


Things quickly went to hell the next evening. 

She paced his sitting room, glancing now and again at the doorway. She hoped he wasn’t hurt again. She’d watched him stiffen before he’d even had a chance to sit down at dinner, and now it was well after midnight and he had yet to return. Was Voldemort angry with him? Had he somehow learned that it was Severus who had saved her life? Was he going to be punished again? Would he learn something that could help them instead? 

She was just wondering if perhaps she should leave, when he came through the doorway and stopped. His eyes were fixed on her, a mixture of anger and surprise, and maybe delight? There were flickers of purple in his eyes, and her heart stuttered. He arched an eyebrow as if to ask what the hell she thought she was doing in his chambers, but the smile that bloomed on his face was wicked with intent. 

She just looked back at him levelly and said, “Hey, you’re the one who keyed me to your wards, were you hoping I’d  _ not _ come visit?” He remained silent, eyes locked on her, his wolfish smile tipping further at the corners. “Well… I was worried, but now I see you’re safe…” she managed to get out. “So, I’ll just be going then…” She moved slowly to the side, waiting for him to step out of the way, and yet with his predatory gaze sizing her up, she instinctively knew he wouldn’t. She took a step towards him and the door, but paused. No, he definitely wasn’t moving.

“Why in such a hurry?” he drawled, the silk suggestion in his voice trickling over her skin made her shiver. 

_ Well… _ she thought.  _ In for a penny…  _

She wasn’t sure how they’d ended up here. First they’d exchanged banter, some heated looks, then his mouth had been on hers and she’d lost all track of what had happened after that. This was Dark Snape after all, and she hadn’t expected him to let her walk away. She hadn’t been sure which one was going to come back that night, so it had been a gamble. Get thrown out by Snape or… 

Severus stood behind her, her back pressed to his chest, his hands sliding all over her body. Touching, caressing, over her blouse and over the thick fabric of her jeans. His hands left fire in their wake, nerves lighting up at his touch as they dragged down her body. His lips were at her neck, murmuring words and leaving a trail of kisses that made her arch back into him. They were standing, facing the bed, and she moaned at the thought of what was about to happen. Piece by piece, he divested her of her clothes, each one falling on the floor as he slid them off her body. His hands rubbed over her jeans as he slowly undid the button and zipper, taking his time to tease at her waistline before he pulled them down altogether. He gave a low chuckle into her neck when the color of her lingerie was revealed. She’d charmed another pair green after yesterday and she smiled as he appreciated the lace with the tips of his fingers and palms of his hands. His robes and shirt soon joined her clothes on the ground and she dragged her fingers along his thighs, feeling the slight roughness of his woolen trousers. His teeth scraped softly along the tendons of her neck and she moaned at the feel of it. 

“It’s been too long since I felt you from the inside out,” he whispered in her ear, and she shuddered at the sensation. “What was it, Christmas? You could make a man lose his mind. I dream about this, you know,” he ran his hands down her body, and she could feel every lascivious thought in his touch. “Your touch, your scent, your taste. You show up when I slumber and drive away the nightmares as you let me sink deeper and deeper into you.” Hermione could scarcely breathe. He continued, “But I…  _ shouldn’t _ have you. I shouldn't even want you. You’re the apple I’m not supposed to eat…” his last words were said as he nibbled on her ear and inhaled deeply, like he was remembering the smell of summer fruit. Hermione’s insides clenched. His words, his mouth, his every touch ignited her insides and left her body aching with need. His fingers slipped below the elastic of her lace underwear and slowly teased across the nerves there. She almost doubled over, the need for him to keep touching her, touch  _ more _ of her, touch  _ all _ of her was almost painful. The smell and feel of his body, with his hands all over her was overwhelming her senses, and ceasing all coherent thought. 

“I need you, Severus,” she managed to moan out, tilting her head back against him, grinding into the erection she could feel pressed into her backside. He groaned loudly, clamping his teeth down firmly on her shoulder as she arched. Hermione had finally had enough and pulled herself away from him, sliding off the underwear along with her jeans, unsnapping her bra and leaving them all on the floor. She moved forward, climbing onto the center of the bed on all fours and spreading her stance wide, she turned back to look at him over her shoulder. The look on his face was raw: a look of pure want and desire, and her stomach flipped at the sight. His eyes flickered with violet lightning. She watched him as he too removed the last of his clothes and got onto the bed, his long, pale member bouncing stiffly with the movement. Her mouth watered at the sight and she wondered if she would ever get the chance to wrap her lips around him. That thought was interrupted, however, as he dragged his length up and down her overly-slippery opening, making her cry out in delight and desperation. 

She watched him with hooded eyes as he did it again. Her whole body felt feverish and she circled her hips, pushing back against him in retaliation. His eyes closed and his mouth moved, like he was saying some kind solemn prayer. Then his eyes met hers and she didn’t have time to process anything else but his blazing look before he sank into her as deep as he could go. Her body almost buckled as he bottomed out, the sensation of being tapped from the inside reverberating through her. Deep groans escaped both their lips, and together they stilled, reveling in the feeling. 

His hands came around her hips, and he began slowly pulling himself out. He paused there, and just as she registered the aching emptiness left behind, he slammed back into her once again hitting that spot in her center, making her body go hot and cold simultaneously. She gasped as he did it again and black spots floated around her vision. 

“Oh my gods!” She couldn’t help the words escaping her lips and the next time it was his name and a string of obscenities. With every hit her body was coming undone, her brain unable to form thoughts as each blow wiped anything from her mind except for the feel of him inside her. 

His pace was slow and punishing. Each hit was hard and purposeful. She could feel his breathing speed up and slow down, but he was steady as each thrust brought him as deep as he could go. She was on the verge of breaking down crying with the pleasure of it, even as the depth of his thrusts jarred her each time. 

He was murmuring again, almost to himself, and she was barely conscious enough to make sense of it, but he repeated himself and this time she caught the words. 

“Not supposed to want you.”  _ thrust. _ “Shouldn’t have you.”  _ thrust. _ “Dangerous to want you.”  _ thrust. _ “Can’t stop wanting you.”  _ thrust. _

“Oh gods, oh fucking hell, Severus!” Hermione panted back at him, “Can’t stop wanting you either- Fuck! Shut the fuck up about forbidden fruit already- fuck- you already have me! Oh gods, I’m so fucking yours already.” Their eyes met and he grunted as he slammed into her again. And again. And again. As if he were trying to bury himself into her psyche as he buried himself in her body. 

She could feel the tension in her body building, as his movements eventually began to speed up. She couldn’t help the words that tumbled from her lips, “Yes, oh gods -faster! Harder Severus, fuck me harder.” She was too absorbed in her body to wonder if she should be embarrassed or care if she sounded wanton. She was definitely using the word fuck too much. But this felt so  _ fucking  _ good and she just wanted  _ more. _

Her words seemed to spur him, and he drove into her furiously, the sound of skin slapping and heavy breathing and the smell of sex thick in the air. She had been meeting every blow with her body, sweeping back to collide with him in that hypnotic rhythm. Now, she tipped forward to allow her head to drop to the mattress, her right arm under her body and her fingers able to find the nerves between her legs. With this lowered position, he was driving into her at an even deeper angle and it didn’t take long, between his urgent blows and her own touch, before her climax shuddered through her whole body. She could feel herself clenching down on him and he gave a guttural cry as his rhythm became erratic before he finally collapsed onto her, pushing them flat onto the mattress, sweating and exhausted. They lay there breathing heavily until she felt sleep begin to drag her under. The last thing she remembered was him rolling over before tucking her body tight against his and heaving the covers over them both. 


	12. Chapter 12

That same early morning light was filtering into the dungeons again, and with a faint flash of deja vu Hermione wondered if that was what had roused her from her dreams. But then she felt the tickle of fingers as they moved up her thighs, their owner still slumbering as he squeezed her body flush against his. She could feel his hard length pressing into her bottom and she wriggled back against him, eliciting a sleepy growl that made her smile. His hands came up to tease her nipple, palming her breasts and smoothing back down over her hips in a way that left her slippery between her naked thighs. She could tell he wasn’t fully awake yet, and a knot of worry settled in her stomach as she wondered how he would react when he finally did wake. It had not gone well the last time. 

Biting her lip nervously, she sighed and reached back, wrapping her fingers around his hardness. She held it and pushed back to let it slide between the slickness of her folds, back and forth. He let out a long, low groan. She did it a few more times, ever so gently before lining them both up and slowly easing back against him as he pushed into her slightly tender opening. She held her breath, and had to stop for a moment as the heady feeling of being filled again took over everything.  _ She couldn’t get enough of this feeling. _ He moaned sleepily, and his fingers found her hip bones, pulling her more tightly down and over him. After that dizzying moment of initial joining passed, they both seemed to let out a breath. Hermione began very gently rocking back and forth, pushing against him and pulling away. He shuddered, and his fingers clenched, digging into her hips, where she could already feel bruises forming from last night’s vigorous activities. 

She leaned forward on her side, angling her torso away from his, so that the rocking motion that they were both absorbed in now gave him deeper access. Her breathing was uneven, and she closed her eyes, consumed by this feeling, the hunger, his body and touch. She felt him lean forward, lips tracing over the skin on her shoulder blades, mouthing up and down her spine. Then she felt them still. His breathing hitched. And she knew that he-  _ Snape _ -was now fully awake, realizing what he was doing and with whom. She kept rocking back and forth, feeling him fill her and let out a breathy moan. And he didn’t stop the motion. 

She felt a wave of relief wash over her, even as she could hear the despair in the groan that escaped him. But, he didn’t stop. If anything, his movements became slightly more urgent, more intent, his hands moving all over her body now as if taking inventory, committing every inch to memory. His mouth was on her neck, nipping, tasting, kissing. His hands were not rough with her, but they were insistent and claiming as he pushed her chest further away again, accessing that angle that tapped her deep inside and made it hard to breathe. He grunted as he picked up the pace and the thrusts became more determined. His one hand gripped her shoulder, holding her steady as he pumped into her. His other hand came around to her front and he teased over her nerves, sliding through the slickness he found between her legs and rubbing it in deft circles as she gasped.  _ The talent in this man’s fingers,  _ she thought incoherently. He kept touching and moving and she slowly came unravelled, the feel of him washing over her, the climax rolling through her body and she cried out his name as she came. His final cry was muffled as he buried his face in her neck, but it sounded anguished. 

They kept rocking gently until their bodies finally came to a standstill. His arms were around her, gripping her tightly, his face still pressed into the crook of her neck, where she figured he could still safely avoid fully acknowledging what had just happened. They lay there panting heavily until slowly, their breath began to even out. Even after that they remained, silent and still molded to one another, making no move to get up. He was still inside her and she reached back her hand to trail along his thigh, smoothing up over his hip and down over his buttock. She clenched her internal muscles and he made a noise as he pushed into her again, the aftershocks of their orgasms still reverberating through them. His lips moved at her neck again, mouthing a gentle kiss and she hummed in pleasure. So far this was definitely going better than last time. Her hand still traced along the parts of his body it could reach, fingers trailing and then smoothing again, back and forth. 

He let out a long sigh. 

“That bad, huh?” she offered with dry amusement. He grunted in response, squeezing tightly the arm wrapped around her torso. He made several indecipherable sounds against her neck and the vibration there tickled her skin. She snorted. “Bad enough it’s made you go nonverbal, I see.” He made another string of syllables, but then she squealed when his tongue darted out to lick her skin. She began squirming to escape the tongue that was now tickling along her shoulder and neck and high pitched shrieks were starting to escape her mouth. His hand came around to clamp over her mouth and at the same time he rolled her onto her back, pinning her body beneath his as he leaned over her and stared down into her toffee brown eyes. She froze and her heart misstepped, because seeing him gazing down at her in the early morning haze, black eyes bright and hair mussed, he looked absolutely debauched and utterly delectable. She couldn’t help herself and her tongue darted out to lick the palm clamped over her mouth. His eyes narrowed, even as hers crinkled at the edges, but his hand didn’t move. She began tracing small circles against it with her tongue. His chest vibrated in a low growl, and she smirked, though it would only have been visible in her eyes. He leaned in and bit her ear, which sent a jolt of electricity right down her center, eliciting a low moan. He leaned back again with a self-satisfied smirk and it was her turn to growl snapping her teeth together audibly behind the hand clamped over her mouth. 

“Tsk, tsk. No biting. It’s bad form,” he said amused, his voice still scratchy from the early hour. She wriggled beneath him in response, glaring at him as if to remind him that it was  _ her _ ear that  _ he _ had just bitten. He raised an eyebrow and made a mock-severe face. “I’ll have none of that out of you,” as he held her down more firmly beneath his body. Now it was her turn to make an indistinct noise from behind his hand. 

“Hmmmm. What am I going to do with you today?” he mused aloud, throwing her an evil smirk. “I’m thinking that perhaps one day is an acceptable lapse in my sanity. I’ll probably have to obliviate myself, but you did make me promise to tie you up… ” His eyes sparkled as she let out a little moan. 

_ Oh, this was going very differently than last time,  _ she thought. She managed to free her one hand and she reached up, running her fingers through his hair before fisting his soft locks and propelling his face closer. His eyes flashed with heat and his nostrils flared, but he just smirked and slightly rolled his neck, letting her pull on his hair as he moved. 

“So… rough, with a side of bondage and hair pulling, is that what I’m hearing from you?” He sneered, but it was without malice and his eyes glinted amusement. 

She scowled up at him, even as a moan escaped her at the thought of fulfilling  _ those _ fantasies. She held up a finger to him, as if to say, “excuse me,” and then tapped the hand over her mouth. 

He grinned, and she thought it was one of the most breathtaking changes she’d ever seen on him. His face was transformed, the look on him playful and boyish. He released her hand, and without hesitation her mouth was on his, an insistent kiss being pressed to his lips. He froze, but the moment her tongue pushed between his stilled lips, he made a guttural sound and yielded his mouth to her, kissing her back with zeal.  _ Oh god’s, this was the kiss she’d longed for, ever since that day in the greenhouse. _ Then day when she’d finally begun to see the man behind the masks, the man as a whole. She hadn’t even realized how much she wanted him until this moment. This kiss felt more intimate than all the times they’d had sex put together- regardless of how good they’d been! This was the  _ real _ Severus. This was him, fully aware, fully himself, actually kissing her. 

His lips moved over hers, gentle and urgent, soft, but probing. His tongue slipped against hers, they breathed in each other’s air. She sucked on his bottom lip and he scraped hers between his teeth. 

They kissed for a long time. They only stopped kissing when her stomach growled loudly and they both huffed laughter into each other’s mouths.  _ Right. _ She stretched beneath him, rubbing her legs against his and stretching her arms above her head. 

“So, do you plan to fulfill your promises?” she asked as she crossed her right wrist over left above her head and wriggled again beneath him, throwing him a sly smile. 

“And what would you remember of said promises?” His eyes cut over to her sharply. 

“Hmm? What did you say?” She asked, trying out her most innocent look, which instead seemed to come across as somewhat confunded. 

Snape snorted. “With a brain like yours, you really can’t do vacuous.” 

“Hmm,” she mused with a slight frown. “I was going for guileless, but thank you for the compliment.” She threw him a sneaky smile. 

He made another sound and his lips twitched. “Gryffindors aren’t cut out for  _ acting. _ You’re all too liable to be wearing your heart on your sleeve. And everything’s written on your face anyway.” 

“But haven't’ you noticed?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him. “I’ve been trying on some new house colors.” 

He dropped his face into her neck again and his shoulders gently shook as he laughed. “Yes. I did notice.” He glanced at her lingerie on the floor, but she knew that wasn’t what he was talking about. “You’re a sneaky witch. Gods, I must be losing my touch. Bested by a-” Hermione’s hand came up to clap over his mouth and she gave him a stern look. 

“A  _ very _ intelligent witch, doing her best to learn from the best- right? That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?” His eyes crinkled, and she loved seeing them up close that they were black and clear, no purple lightning to be seen. “Right…?” she asked again sternly. 

He nodded his head solemnly. 

“Well, let’s get something to eat then.” 

Hermione stayed in the bedroom while Severus ordered a full breakfast from a house elf in the sitting room. He reminded her that the house elves were duty-bound to report to the headmaster if they noticed anything amiss, and so after ordering the food and saying he’d take dinner again at 6, he requested not to be disturbed otherwise until tomorrow. He offered to transfigure a shirt from his wardrobe, but instead she just took it, putting on the buttondown, leaving a fair bit showing at the top and the shirt itself only came to the tops of her thighs. But it made her happy to wear it and he seemed to be somewhat pleased to see her in it as well. He kept looking sidelong at her beneath his lashes until she flashed him by widening her legs and he choked on the bite of toast he’d just taken. She raised an eyebrow at him, but his shoulders just shook as he suppressed his mirth and pretended nothing had happened. She sniffed indignantly. 

They lounged as they ate, talking about things they’d been reading, projects they’d been working on; they talked of nothing consequential and they fully embraced the laziness of the late morning. After they’d finished drinking their coffee and Hermione’s had finally gone cold, she reached up to push her hair back and grimaced. 

“I need a shower,” she said before she could think through the implications of such a statement. She glanced over at Severus where she could see the heat in his gaze before it suddenly blinked out, hidden from view. 

“Do you need anything for it?” he asked hesitantly. “There should be soap and shampoo, but I’ll have to summon conditioner, if you need it.” 

She nodded, and looked around the room, feeling suddenly a bit shy. She bit her lip before finding her courage, looking him straight in the eye and quirking an eyebrow at him. “And what do  _ you _ need… for the shower?” 

His eyes seemed to swell with relief and arousal for a moment before his expression settled back into a smirk. “I think I have… everything I need.” 

She stood up, took his hand and led him to the spacious bathroom, pulling him towards the marble enclosed shower. 


	13. Chapter 13

She liked the way his head fell back against the marble as she gripped his cock in her hand. She liked watching the way his breathing became uneven. She liked watching the wildfire raging in his eyes when he turned them on her. She liked the way the steam and the spray created a haze in the air that made his skin shimmer in the distorted lighting. She liked the way he felt when wet. She especially liked the way he pleaded with her not to do this when she got down on her knees in front of him, arguing incoherently that he’d never be able to stop seeing that image of her, how he would never unsee her on her knees- and that’s when she’d wrapped her lips around his cock, looking up at him and he had looked so desperate and terrified, but also hungry and haunted. Like he’d been starving. He kept watching her, eyes never leaving as she moved forward and back, pushing him deeper into her throat. She liked the way he groaned, his muscles taut, struggling in some internal battle, before he lost himself to the sensation of her mouth around him. 

  
  


They lay on his bed all afternoon. Touching, talking, fingers running over each other’s skin and bodies like they were now extensions of their own. Kissing. Listening, asking questions and laughing. She never knew Snape could  _ laugh _ like this. To be fair, it was usually suppressed, not open laughter, but still. It was something sacred. She wondered how many had actually seen this side of him. And as the daylight turned to shadows, she felt the heaviness grow in her as well, dreading the end to this singularly perfect day. 

“Were you serious about having to obliviate yourself after today?” she asked, looking up at him as he lay there, eyes closed. The corner of his mouth twitched and she felt a twinge of hope that maybe he’d just been being dramatic. 

He sighed though and was silent a long time before answering. “The more vivid the memories, the more difficult they are to submerge and hide them when being subjected to legilimency. The more readily they come to the surface unbidden.” He smiled a small bitter smile. “I haven’t had anything vivid to hide in a very long time.” 

Her heart tightened. She traced a fingertip along the contours of his face and his features relaxed again at her touch. “I’m sorry,” she said. He snorted at this, but she went on. “I really don’t want to jeopardize you. Is there anything I can do?” He shook his head and his mouth found hers. 

“I’ll remove today’s memories, which should make them feel more faint and distant. Their echoes will still be there, but they won’t be…  _ vibrating in the foreground, _ ” he drawled dryly. She laughed. “Then I just need to work on locking them with other memories… I wouldn’t want to show anyone…” he glared accusingly over at her and she couldn’t control the laughter as it spilled out of her. 

“Oh gods - like it was my fault!” she chortled. 

“Hmmm… ” he responded noncommittally, “Of course it wasn’t your  _ fault.”  _ He sighed. “But, you were just always…  _ there. _ ” He turned over to face her. “My one temptation, the one person with whom my self-control was weak, and you were always just…  _ there. _ Right within arm’s reach… the  _ one thing _ in the garden I wasn’t supposed… to eat.” His hand snaked out to wrap around her waist, pulling her close to him and she inhaled sharply as his teeth found her earlobe again and he nibbled. 

“You can’t be serious?” She glanced up at him questioningly, but his eyes were hooded, eyeing her like a delicious treat upon which he was about to feast. “Well, that’s a new version of the story. So now it’s the apple who tempts the serpent?  _ Although _ , perhaps that’s how he became the craftiest of all the creatures to begin with! Eating from the tree of knowledge.” She raised an eyebrow at him as he raised himself up on an elbow to look at her. “And yes, I’m fully aware that there were no  _ apples _ in the ancient near east. But you know what I mean - fruit of some variety. Probably pomegranates.” 

He smirked and she could have sworn there was a murmured  _ something-something-know-it-all _ under his breath. 

“But I’m getting sidetracked.  _ Why? _ Why were you tempted those nights, what was different about those times?” He sighed again, disentangling himself from her to look down in her eyes again. 

“So, you already know about the project of the Dark Lord’s. You already know that he is using dark magic to fuel this artifact, refilling it until it is at full power. Well, the dark magic that is used to recharge it, his followers… we are required to cast the spells to refuel it. It is our magic that is bringing it back to strength, but in the process, we are… altered for a time. Channeling certain dark magics has side effects and its residual influence lowers one’s inhibitions. It brings out one’s darkest tendencies… it makes you high and gives you wild abandon to do the things you might not normally do. It frees your demons. The darkest parts of you, it draws them out, gives them control. My demons… I have it in me…” He trailed off again. She’d never heard him so imprecise with his words. “My tendencies are to  _ seduce _ .” He said finally. “To take that which is not mine. To possess that which can’t or shouldn't be possessed. I want to burn things down with my desire and leave nothing but ashes. I want to tempt, just to see if they’ll give in. I want to fuck, and not care who it hurts or what consequences it might hold.” He stopped her, watching her as his words sank in. 

“But, you didn’t.” It was a statement, not a question. “You  _ weren’t _ seducing other students. You  _ weren’t _ out on a sex spree with any and everyone who crossed your path.” That last sentence did hold the barest hint of a question, and he smiled ruefully. 

“No. I didn’t.” They were both quiet for a while before he continued. “And for a while I was able to hide it well enough. I just ignored everyone until the effects subsided- until I was back in control. Isolate until the temptation passed.” He stopped again. “And then  _ you _ showed up.” She couldn’t read what was in his eyes. “Kept showing up. And suddenly I was waking up remembering doing and saying things that I’d  _ never _ have allowed myself. You kept showing up, my own personal temptation, and you were drawn to the darkness.” There was a question in his eyes. He sighed. 

“I wasn’t drawn to the darkness,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his and holding them. “I was drawn to you.” She smiled a sly smile at him. She took a breath, shifting the conversation back to her original question. “So how did you do it? How do you resist temptation?” 

“Not counting you of course?” 

“Of course,” she smirked. 

His face was unreadable. “The key to managing the influence of dark magic is to be fully aware of your own…  _ inclinations. _ You must be fully  _ accepting _ that these are parts of yourself. The destruction, the lust, the desire to tear things apart and leave them broken, these are all parts of myself with which I am well acquainted. They no longer control me, because I acknowledge them. I’ve embraced them. These are  _ the darkest _ parts of me, but they  _ are _ still a part of me. In one sense they are neither good nor bad, they just are. They are part of what makes me who I am. So, because they are accepted as part of my whole, they are less potent when I am ‘under the influence’ as you so aptly put it.” He gave her a smirk at that. 

She snorted, but she was utterly fascinated by what he was saying. It was once again, the Jungian idea of The Shadow, and how powerful that shadow can become when not ‘integrated’ into the self. That was truly impressive that Snape had come to such a deep understanding of himself that the dark magic did not influence him the way it might have influenced others. She wondered how she would have held up under its power, and wondered how much more work she had to do to recognize her own shadow parts and learn to accept them. Embrace them as part of her. She thought about the ruthless calculating part of her that had at times given people what she felt “they deserved.” She shivered at the thought of that part of her amplified and unleashed. How does one reconcile the ugliest parts of themselves and accept them simply as a part of what makes them who they are? 

He drew her back from her thoughts when he spoke again. “Others become uninhibited in their desires to inflict pain, to control, to murder, to rape, to start fires or destroy things…” his voice trailed off and he looked somewhat ill at the thought of what others had been doing those nights he’d come back, violet light in his eyes, as well as of what he, perhaps, was capable. She thought back to headlines she’d seen in the muggle newspapers, as well as The Prophet, of ongoing incidents of violence and destruction. 

“I imagine the Dark Lord found the idea amusing that he was unleashing me at a school full of innocent young women, with my particular… vice. Perhaps he thought I’d succumb to temptation one of these days. I only ever led him to believe that I’d sated my lusts elsewhere. I think he figured it was a test, or torture of sorts. If I was caught doing what he hoped I would do, I would lose my place at the school and lose my position as his spy. He knew it was a high stakes game, but I think he also knew I wouldn’t do it. He’s strangely impressed by my self control. He prides himself on his own. To him, self-control is the key to power. Power itself is only acquired and kept through discipline and control. I believe it is why he both favors me… and feels threatened by me.” 

“Does he make you participate in the revels?” She couldn’t help the question as it leaped from her lips before she could stop it. 

His mouth twisted at the mention of the revels, but he answered her anyway. “He used to. Many years ago. Now, he believes I prefer to corrupt the innocent, seduce the committed- in other words, he thinks I practice my destructive tendencies elsewhere. Because really there’s nothing innocent to seduce or corrupt there. Only opportunities to abuse, exploit or destroy. And that’s  _ others’ _ specialties. The revels are for the followers who enjoy them, and he really doesn’t care if we participate or refrain. As long as we  _ are _ indulging our darker natures.” 

Hermione let out a breath she’d been holding. “I suppose that’s better than forcing you to participate.” 

“Yes,” was all he said. They were quiet again for a long time. 

“So… you were tempted by me: why?” she smiled innocently at him and he huffed. 

“Keep practicing,” was all he said in response to her batted eyelashes and feigned guileless expression. He gave her a snarky grin and his hands roamed over her body, sparking fires beneath her skin. “You want to know why you were a temptation to me?” 

She moaned as his fingers brushed over her nipples, trailing the undersides of her breasts and spreading out across her abdomen, before gripping her hip bones. 

He whispered in her ear. “I never would have thought of you that way two years ago. You were a student and that is not a line I ever contemplated crossing. Not once.” He sighed. “But you were right. It was when the war began in truth and you were no longer just a student. You were a young woman of age, you were a member of the Order, you were brilliant, intuitive, a voracious learner, and we were suddenly working together as peers, as colleagues. Some of your work is brilliant. You were coming up with new ideas for potions and plants and…” he inhaled deeply. “I started to see you differently, and for the first time my thoughts,” here he paused, “weren’t as  _ disciplined _ as they should have been.” 

“Hmmmm… discipline?” she smirked, letting all the innuendo seep through the casual words. “How naughty.” 

His eyes flashed at her and she laughed. 

“Such a tease,” he tsked silkily moving to hold her hands above her head as if they were bound. However, he continued on as if nothing had happened. “I probably would have been fine, no lines crossed… if you had  _ just _ been willing to do what I asked  _ -and left me alone. _ ” He said with emphasis, glaring at her sternly before dipping down to take a nipple between his teeth. She groaned, but then seemed to return back to the playful mood. 

“And then where would you be?” she teased back. “All alone, frozen in the snow. A Snape-popsicle. We might have found your ice-preserved corpsicle by now.” 

He tried to suppress his snicker, but failed. Then he just looked at her strangely. “My world’s been very gray. For a very long time. You’re a Renoir in an otherwise bleak landscape.” He seemed to deliver this line with equal parts sincerity and sarcasm, and she was impressed with the skill of it. 

Hermione laughed at his sort-of compliment and wrinkled her nose. “I always thought Renoir’s people tend to look a bit pig nosed. Or odd shaped.” 

He snorted at her and smirked, “Frida, then? Cezanne? Cassatt? Surely not a Picasso or Dali?” 

“Hey!” she slapped him playfully “Definitely not. No weird dripping clocks,” she muttered. 

“Ruining my poetic imagery,” he groused under his breath, but his eyes were laughing. 

She laughed too, before glancing shyly into his eyes, still startled by the intensity in their inky depths. She was still surprised to see them clear, and this close up. 

Then she asked the question she couldn’t seem to help wondering, though she tossed it out in a snarky quip, “So, under the influence you wanted to corrupt me in my innocence, seduce me until I was consumed by my own lustful fires, and cast me down until I shattered beyond repair, is that it?” 

He growled into her ear before pulling back to look her in the eyes again and remarked dryly but with a seriousness he couldn’t hide, “You were much more in the category of things I wanted to take that weren’t mine to take, or things I wanted to keep for myself, when that wasn’t my choice to make. I wanted to take you and possess you, body and soul.” The last sentence was growled, his fingers ghosted over her skin and she shivered. Then he smiled evilly at her and said, “It was an added bonus that I got to corrupt your innocence.” 

“First of all, I’m not a  _ thing _ for the taking! Second of all, you did  _ not _ corrupt my innocence!” she huffed. 

“And I thank whatever merciful gods there might be for that one.” He sighed. “I’m not sure I could have lived with myself if you had been. Of course,  _ had _ you been more virginal you probably wouldn’t have sought me out the way you did.” His eyes glinted. “You would have been a smart little girl and run back to your rooms and not dallied  _ time after time _ in the darkness. I did  _ try _ to warn you.” The smile he gave her made her blush all over. It spoke of all the indecent things he’d promised to do to her, both then and now. “Besides,” he said nonchalantly, “I said those were the  _ darkest _ parts of my motivations; they are not  _ all _ that drives me. He spoke the words into her neck, teeth scraping along her skin there sending shivers down her body. His lips molded themselves over her muscles and made their way up to her earlobe and down her jawline towards her lips again. After gently probing at her lips, nibbling and tasting, he paused. 

He rolled over onto her and his hair hung down around his face as he stared down at her intently. Her hands roamed over his back and shoulders, down to his buttocks. She traced over the ridges of scars carved across his skin, heart hurting for each one. The intensity in his eyes made her feel slightly skittish, and she felt like a mouse locked in the gaze of a hawk. He leaned down and traced her lips with his tongue. The heat in his eyes and the weight of his naked body on hers made her insides clench and the itchings of desire began pooling again deep within. She could feel him growing harder against her thigh, and the tangible evidence of his desire for her made her feel light headed and high. 

“I want you,” he whispered, his nose nuzzling across her cheekbones, chin and forehead, his lips trailing behind in open mouthed kisses, his breath warm on her face. “I want you,  _ all the time. _ ” 

She made a breathy sound at this, inhaling the smell and feel of him, pulling his body closer, fingers roving constantly, exploring, trying to take in as much as she could of the feel of him. 

“I want to make you mine, so that no one else can have you. I want to claim you and take you…” Hermione was staring into his eyes, and she could hear that there was more he’d left unspoken: more words, more wanting, just more. 

His fingers came up to tangle in her hair and it conveyed his raw possessiveness. He ground his hips towards her and her insides flared with the contact of his erection against her slippery core. With his hand he guided himself to her opening and rubbed up and down, gliding along her wetness and igniting her nerve endings everywhere his member touched. She bit her lip and moaned, the sensation of his firm, silky head sliding over her clitoris was sensory overload. He kissed her lips as he stopped at her entrance again, this time pushing forward, ever so slightly. Her breath hitched and both of their eyes opened, taking each other in as he slid slowly into her. This was the first time they had ever had sex face to face. It seemed neither could breathe and they just stayed like that, locked together, bodies become-one for a moment that stretched out. And then Hermione took a deep breath and it jostled their bodies and they both groaned aloud. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel too good.” She wriggled under him and he groaned again. “How the fuck does it feel this good?” She smothered a smile at the disbelief in his voice, but gasped when he nudged forward a little, making her nerves jolt. 

“Oh gods, Severus!” She pushed herself against him, grinding her hips upward and he closed his eyes, sucking air in through his teeth. They began to move slowly against each other. Deliberately dragging out each motion, carefully absorbing each touch. Relishing each gentle collision. Not knowing if they would ever get another day like this one. 

It was slow and torturous as he pulled every last ounce of pleasure from her, as his mouth and lips memorized every part of her, as his teeth scraped her petal-soft skin, tasting her sweat and flavor as his body pressed into hers, as they struggled to merge into one another. She lost herself in the sensations, the overwhelm of his body in and over hers, and she was gasping, crying into his mouth with every touch. Then her eyes met his, the bright flames of unquenchable desire burning in each as they sought to catch and claim each other in the maelstrom of their wanting. Their friction grew more and more urgent, his body slamming into hers, their gaze never breaking, until finally her body seized around him and he cried out with the feel of her clenching around him. Consumed by everything, they rode out wave after wave of feeling between them. 

They stayed joined for a long time, his face finally buried in her neck after coming down from the peak together. 

She just wanted to stay like this forever. She knew it was late, and she would need to get back to her room at some point. Her stomach fluttered nervously at the idea of him going back to just ignoring her. She wasn’t sure what exactly had transpired between them, but it would definitely change things. 

“You’re not going to just pretend I don’t exist again, are you?” She finally asked, worrying her lip as she finally got up and began to put on her clothes. He sat in bed, still tangled in the sheets, watching her every move with hooded eyes. 

“I won’t. I promise. But I won’t be able to be friendly to you either. I’m sorry.” 

Hermione sighed. “Don’t be. I would hardly expect you to be polite. Talk about  _ alarming _ .” The corners of his lips turned up at that. “I’m well aware it would jeopardize things. And maybe it will be good practice for me to work on my mask and my acting.” 

“Occluding helps,” he offered. 

“I’ve tried on my own, but I haven’t really tested it with anyone else, so I’m not actually sure how well I’m doing at it.” 

He smiled wickedly. “I’d be glad to offer my services to see how that’s coming along, if you’d like…” he suggested silkily. 

She grinned with a hint of wickedness herself. “Be careful what you offer. I wouldn’t want you getting  _ distracted _ during class by witnessing where my thoughts take me.” She batted her eyelashes at him. 

“Temptress,” was all he said but his eyes had darkened at the implications. 

Finally dressed, she looked around the room to see if she had forgotten anything, twirling her wand between her fingers. She checked herself in the mirror and gave a start at the dark marks on her neck and breasts. She quickly glamoured anything that was visible and gave him an irritated huff, but when her eyes met his, he just smiled darkly, licking his lips slowly. 

She scowled at him. 

Her nerves started to flutter again and she felt awkward as she readied to leave. Before she could move, there were suddenly hands roughly pulling her against his chest, and her breath caught as his lips covered hers, pressing, sucking, opening hers to his. When they finally stopped they were both breathing hard, foreheads touching, eyes closed. 

He growled. “You need to get out of here.” 

“Unceremoniously kicking me out again,” she sighed. 

He ground his hips into hers and she groaned. “I need you to leave,” he gritted out, “or I’ll have to explain to Dumbledore why I’ve chained you to my bed. Naked.” 

“That would be an awkward conversation,” she smirked. 

“Indeed.” 

“So,” she said mischievously, “I’ll see you next Friday then?” 


End file.
